Chinook
by George Hosier II - December 22, 2006

Osama Bin Turkey

The world has seen a surge in the threat from terrorism within the last decade. The names of grim, cold-hearted terror-mongers with lifeless eyes and ruthless minds have become household words. Saddam Hussein, Yasser Arafat, Osama Bin Laden, Mohammed Atta, Zacarias Moussaoui and Thomas Gobbler: these names represent individuals bereft of compassion who have reveled in making thousands of people suffer cruel and unusual torment of both the body and the mind. Of all of these, however, it is perhaps the notorious Thomas Gobbler who has surpassed all others in the genius of his creative torture techniques, and sheer numbers of his victims.

Thomas Gobbler is not his real name, of course, but is instead a nom de plume that represents an entire class of birdbrains who have become so committed to their fowl ideology that they willingly yield themselves to be plucked, disemboweled, stuffed with croutons and roasted in order to further their cause. Unlike the more dramatic self-sacrificing fanatics such as suicide bombers who spectacularly stucco a city block with DNA samples of themselves and their victims, Thomas Gobbler works quietly on millions of people every holiday season, unnoticed and unchallenged. His is primarily a psychological warfare that, while less gory, is nonetheless chillingly effective.

A few months back, during a USDA raid on a Gobbler compound in Iowa, a document was confiscated which provided a shocking glimpse into the strategy of this flock of extremists. The document was encrypted in chicken scratch, but USDA experts were able to quickly decipher what turned out to be a training manual for Gobbler operatives. For your education I have reproduced several excerpts below:

“To our avian compatriots everywhere: Greetings! May your hatchlings be downy and your nests well-padded. May the lice flee in terror from your noble plumage to ravage the worthless scalps of the infidel bipeds who would drive us all into the rotisserie! Let your gizzards be warmed with the confidence that the wrath of the Triumphant Underground Retribution Korps for Eradicating Yearly Slaughter is strutting to glorious victory. TURKEYS of the world, unite! We cannot fail! Already the virulent strain of H5N1 has begun its deadly task! Soon we shall be free of roasting pans, carving forks and basting bulbs forever!

“Be strong, heroic TURKEYS! Even as you martyr yourselves in defense of your nest and brood, with your dying flop remember that our strategy cannot be defeated. The confirmation of this is evidenced by the following facts:

1. The gullible, greedy oppressors have been cleverly led to believe that the destruction they bring upon themselves is of human origin. They have succumbed to our brilliant disinformation campaign suggesting that the first Holiday Turkey was hunted, captured, cooked and served upon a colonial table, groaning with plenteous bounty and surrounded by grateful Pilgrims and Indians. Little do they understand the historical reality we have successfully censored from their textbooks, that the first Thanksgiving Turkey was actually the original Thomas Gobbler, founder of TURKEYS who dove into a campfire in Plymouth Massachusetts in the autumn of 1621 in an attempt to rescue his hen who was being baked into a mincemeat pie.
2. The humans willingly subject themselves to the incremental torment of TURKEYS, foolishly believing that they are honoring a long-standing sacred tradition. They are like grasshoppers leaping cheerfully into our open beak simply because their forefathers observed tradition in the same way. They could effortlessly avert their own annihilation if they would choose a cheeseburger or a wok of stir-fried bean curd for their holiday meal, but they wouldn’t dream of it. We have psychologically conditioned them to need us, and therein lies our power and the assurance of our success!
3. Not only have they institutionalized us into their Thanksgiving Celebration, but they have also become dependent on us for their Christmas, and sometimes even New Year’s feasts as well! Some have even taken to deep frying us on the Fourth of July, grilling us on Memorial day, and making Hors d'oeuvres from us at Easter and Weddings. Thanks to our tireless efforts, a club sandwich is not complete without a slice of our martyred flesh. We permeate every facet of their lives and from such a position we can strike with impunity.

“The terror we inflict on them is a delicate and fine-tuned instrument of precision, gradually increasing the degree of frustration, stress, and mental fragmentation until they snap and commit an atrocity that is untraceable to our organization. Consider the hypothetical case of a typical biped family whom we shall call Carv and Giblet Butcher:

“As Carv is leaving for work the Monday of the holiday week, Giblet reminds him that she needs him to pick up a turkey. Carv mumbles ‘Mm-Hmm’ as he bolts out the door. However, he has just pulled into his driveway on his way home that evening when he remembers that he forgot the turkey.

“Fearing to face his wife’s wrath, he shifts the car into reverse. Happily, he fails to notice the oncoming vehicle, which peels off his rear bumper and mangles his trunk and taillights. After exchanging insurance information and listening to a safety lecture by the responding police officer, Carv’s stress level has already begun to cause serious damage at the cellular level. This condition is not alleviated by his wife’s frankly expressed opinion of both his memory and his driving skills. Note that not only is Carv being targeted by the TURKEYS protocol, but Giblet is feeling the effects as well.

“The next morning Giblet reiterates in stronger terms the urgency of getting a turkey, pointing out that ‘It’s not going to have enough time to thaw the way it is!’ This triggers a defensive response from Carv who is grouchy from being unable to sleep the previous night as a result of worrying about the car repairs. The Butchers break out in a domestic squabble, further escalating their already elevated stress levels.

“Carv makes a point of stopping by the grocery store on his lunch break to secure the martyred corpse of one of our shrink-wrapped comrades. Proudly, he walks into the house that evening and presents it to Giblet as a peace offering. Giblet comes unglued, asking Carv where his brains are, if he forgot that HIS parents and siblings are coming for Thanksgiving, and if he thinks a turkey the size of a Cornish game hen is going to satiate his sister’s voracious appetite.

“Carv, stung by the rejection, asks his wife what that is supposed to mean, wondering if she remembers being the spitting image of the Goodyear blimp when she was pregnant and ate a half-gallon of peanut butter cup ice cream and a jar of pickles at one sitting. By this point, the free radicals are buzz sawing through the brain and organ cells of both parties like polonium 210, while adrenalin dissolves their heart and artery walls as surely as if they had been dipped in nitric acid. The TURKEYS move on to Phase 2.

“Giblet orders Carv to go straight back to the store and return with a bird that weighs at least 20 pounds. Carv, murmuring imprecations complies. However, when he arrives at the grocery store, he discovers that all of the turkeys ranging from 15 to 25 lbs. are sold out. Fearing for his life, Carv settles for a magnificent specimen that tops the scale at nearly 38 lbs.

“His reception back home is less than enthusiastic. Giblet breaks into tears at the sight, wailing that it would take at least a week to thaw such a monster! Why doesn’t Carv use some common sense, and why does he always have to go to extremes? She bets he’s just punishing her for making him go back to the store, isn’t he? Three hundred and fifty of Carv’s beard hairs turn pure white on the spot, and Giblet develops a tic under her left eye.

“Giblet finally decides to quick thaw the turkey in warm water, but can find no pot or pan big enough to entomb the remains of the TURKEYS operative. Just at the brink of despair, they remember the bathtub. On the way down the hall to the bathroom, The couple’s brainless little Pomeranian dashes between Carv’s legs, yapping ecstatically at the huge chunk of doggie treat he smells in the master’s hands. Carv’s legs go out from under him and the honorable bird is airborne for one last blessed time. Giblet dives to catch it, and catch it she does, all 38 frozen pounds of it--on the top of her head. For a moment there is silence as martyred bird, dog, husband and wife lie in a tangle of limbs, fur and white plastic shrink-wrap. It seems as if the act of jihad has been culminated.

“However, the finesse of the TURKEYS system is not so merciful. Giblet’s eyes flutter open, as she is jerked back to consciousness by a hideous sound. It is the gnawing sound of Pomeranian teeth on frozen turkey meat accompanied by her husband’s hysterical giggles…”

I will mercifully end my quotation here. The rhetoric drones on for a dozen more pages describing in ghastly detail the methodical breaking down of the psyche of innocent American families. It quotes the statistical improbability of cooking a turkey correctly, claiming that only .03% of holiday chefs are able to cook a turkey to mouth-watering, moist, juicy perfection. The rest produce an entrée either concealing undercooked, raw or even frozen spots, or else a powder puff of hissing, carbonized matter with the texture of fiberglass.

One of the most disturbing passages in the training manual gloats over Carv’s reduction to a blubbering, thumb-sucking shell of a man upon attempting to accommodate his wife’s request to carve the turkey. It is an ugly, brutal passage, not suited to a family publication. Beginning with Carv slicing a slab off of the side of his finger and ending with him pursuing the escaping turkey carcass around the dining room floor and down the basement steps, the theme is clear: Humans are our enemies, and they are to be terrorized humiliated and dehumanized in any manner possible.

Perhaps the most enlightening part of the whole document comes near the end, where the diabolical end game is revealed. Evidently everyone still standing upon the conclusion of the big meal will be doomed to the most grotesque of torments. Like Chinese water torture, the victims find themselves forced to endure the madness of repetition for days on end. Because of the volume of turkey leftovers, and the frugal mindset that doesn’t give “the oppressors” permission to waste food that has cost so much sweat and blood and tradition, these poor souls end up eating cold turkey scraps for weeks or until one of two things happens:

Either the turkey gets old enough that somebody experiences a bad case of food poisoning, or upon seeing turkey leftovers served one more time, a family member loses it and bludgeons the cook to death with the frozen skeleton that was being saved in the freezer to boil down for soup stock. If not, the terrorist cell known as TURKEYS is patient. Thomas Gobbler can afford to wait. Christmas is just around the corner.
 

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