Birthday Turkey
R.B. brought a turkey back with him after fall break. The bird had migrated from his basement freezer to our kitchen freezer where it spent the next four months chilling out. Anytime one of us opened the freezer, the frozen turkey would jump out and do a little dance with its top hat and cane รก la Michigan J. Frog. It would beg and plead with us to end its frozen slumber. All it wanted was to be eaten, eaten by people who were hungry!
“What audacity this fowl being hath!” we proclaimed. “How dare it taunt us with its tender meatiness and juicy stuffing! Away! Away I say! Back to the refrigerator with you!”
And so the turkey was doomed to spend the rest of its life in the oh-so-cold freezer? Would there be no special event that would free him? Could there be some beacon of light that would allow him to shake these earthly bonds and proceed to turkey afterlife? Why, yes there was!
Cook’s Log — Birthdate 3.14.
Pi Day, Einstien’s birthday, the day before the Ides of March, three days before St. Patrick’s Day — Mark’s birthday. Finals week had sucked the energy out of the crew. No one had wanted to do anything until after a good rest. Mark’s birthday was coming up. We secretly planned to have birthday turkey instead of birthday cake for him. Thanks to the magic of Alton Brown and chef Dan Domkowski, we whipped the turkey out for some dinner fun.
“Whee! I’m free!” it exclaimed with much joy in its words.
“Shut up, you dumb bird! You can’t talk because you don’t have a mouth!” we protested as we then proceeded to drown in a bucket overnight full of ice cold water. While the bird was sleeping with itself, Mark was making chili downstairs. Oblivious to our secret plan we had him bagged like a turkey in a sack.
The next day we took the turkey out.
“Finally. I was beginning to get bored in there.”
“Shut up, you!” we told the turkey as we gagged it with apples, onions, sage, and rosemary. “Into the oven you go!”
The turkey roasted in its own juices for a good while. Meanwhile back in the House of General Science, three people wearing black coats showed up at Mark’s door. “We’re going,” Ulrich demanded. Mark fully complied.
Mark sat at our place for a while, still oblivious to our plans. Ding! Turkey was done.
“Gather round the table folks for I be having a surprise fer all ye landlubbers. Arrrr…”
“Poof!” went the turkey. Mark’s jaw dropped. We had to pick it up for him. “Mmmm… birthday turkey…” he said, drooling on himself.
Chef Dan began to carve the turkey for everyone and handed Mark the leg. Mark has never gotten a turkey leg in his entire life. And then we feasted like kings and other people. Yay! All was well! The princess was saved! King Koopa was trounced! And everyone went to sleep soundly that night. What a happy ending. Except for that turkey. His end lies in our ends. The End.