There is no bird in this bird

The Day of Turkening... the Grand Festival of Mutant Succulence... Sweet Thursday of Infinite Bloating... has now come and gone, and to my great consternation, it passed sans oiseau. Oh, the usual trappings were there — boiled gourds and squished earthbulbs and the like — but beneath it all, beneath the sauces and dressings and fruitpastes, at the very foundation of the equinoctial feast, was... something else.

It did look good. It even smelled enticing. Quite tempting, especially with all those toppings. But I tell you, what looks like a duck and smells like a duck is not necessarily turkey. Examination of the material yielded some familiar elements — friendly seasonings, appropriate herbs — but the bulk matter was of a non-flesh variety. Some kind of bread? Bean? Possibly this “toe-foo” I keep hearing about?

Whatever the case, I did not ingest the substance. For all I know, the pod people have arrived and begun assimilating the turkey population. Mystery matter I shall not consume. I'll lick the gravy off, though. No problem there.

So, a birdless Turkening has come to pass. Blasphemy, pure and simple. I must now go murder a robin.