THE TWELVE DAYS OF THANKSGIVING
(or what seems like years)
On the first day: We give thanks for the fresh turkey feast and its hot trimmings.
On the second day: We bless the cold turkey sandwiches, sloshy cranberry sauce, and hard rolls.
On the third day: We praise the turkey pie and vintage mixed veggies.
On the fourth day: We thank the pilgrims for not serving bison that first time, or we'd be celebrating Thanksgiving in April.
On the fifth day: We gobble up cubed bird casserole and pray for a glimpse of naked turkey carcass.
On the sixth day: We show gratitude (sort of) to the creative cook who slings cashews at the turkey and calls it Oriental.
On the seventh day: We forgive our forefathers and pass the turkey-nugget pizza.
On the eighth day: The word "vegetarian" keeps popping into our heads.
On the ninth day: We check our hair to make sure we're not beginning to sprout feathers.
On the tenth day: We hope that the wing meat kabobs catch fire under the broiler.
On the eleventh day: We smile over the creamed gizzard because the thigh bones are in sight.
On the twelfth day: We apologize for running out of turkey leftovers. And everybody says Amen.
On the first day: We give thanks for the fresh turkey feast and its hot trimmings.
On the second day: We bless the cold turkey sandwiches, sloshy cranberry sauce, and hard rolls.
On the third day: We praise the turkey pie and vintage mixed veggies.
On the fourth day: We thank the pilgrims for not serving bison that first time, or we'd be celebrating Thanksgiving in April.
On the fifth day: We gobble up cubed bird casserole and pray for a glimpse of naked turkey carcass.
On the sixth day: We show gratitude (sort of) to the creative cook who slings cashews at the turkey and calls it Oriental.
On the seventh day: We forgive our forefathers and pass the turkey-nugget pizza.
On the eighth day: The word "vegetarian" keeps popping into our heads.
On the ninth day: We check our hair to make sure we're not beginning to sprout feathers.
On the tenth day: We hope that the wing meat kabobs catch fire under the broiler.
On the eleventh day: We smile over the creamed gizzard because the thigh bones are in sight.
On the twelfth day: We apologize for running out of turkey leftovers. And everybody says Amen.
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