In preperation for Thanksgiving Anna and I rented a Limosine and drove uptstate in search of a wild turkey. We sat upfront as the back was full of military grade weapons and amunition. Turkeys are wild, violent and dangerous beasts and one must approach the hunting of them with extreme caution. Anna insisted on bring a domesticated Turkey with us for no other reason than to taunt the bastards. We chose a secluded spot in upstate New York and, using a dog leash, tied the snarling animal to a tree, then procedded to shoot it with a low powered paintball gun.
“This ought to do the trick,” Anna muttered as she fired off another round. “Turkeys are known for their species loyalty and their cruel interest in revenge.”
Soon the desolate forrest was teaming with them, peaking out from the branches and deadfall, and squaking their shrill warnings. Anna and I took up arms and opened fire obliterating nearly the entire Wild Turkey population of north New York in under six and a half minutes.
We spent the night in a nearby Motel Six and had a local excivation company scoop up the remains using a back-end loader and dump them on my rival, Jimmy Olsen’s, doorstep.
Olsen exited his house, naked and in a rage to find Anna and I standing on his front lawn, laughing.
”You scum!” Olsen shouted.
But the dishes were done. Anna and I hoped into the back of a waiting cab and departed for Bermuda.
