After three days of being locked out of my WordPress account I finally convinced it to let me in. So I’m back, and ready to bring you funny tales and articles scoured from the internet featuring both human and not so human weirdness. Enjoy <3
# 3 is probably one of the most putzworthy of the lot. I cannot tell you how many times I heard ‘your mother is in a better place,’ when she died. I was nine years old. I had NO concept of what that meant, and the smarmy self righteous bastards who told me that (repeatedly) never had a clue as to how destructive that is. It suggests that the parent is better off without the child, which is completely incomprehensible to a small child who is devoted to and relies on the parent for their very lives. Suggesting that the parent wanted to be with Jesus (which is an abstract concept that children cannot fully grasp anyway) more than them is even more destructive, hurtful, self-righteous and plain old fashioned cruel.
My father was a soldier in the second world war. Perhaps this is one of the reasons why I have anxiety disorder?
Everyone has at least one Thanksgiving gone awry story that they share every year. The stories are usually funny in the present moment when you’re relating them to someone, but at the time they weren’t funny at all. But in the end, we see the humor in whatever went wrong on that ONE day, and we can relate it while laughing so hard tears are streaming down our eyes.
I am no different, and I’d like to share with you the day, when I was seventeen, i gave the bird a c-section.
If you think I’m laughing while writing this, you’d be quite correct.
I was seventeen years old and it was the first time my mother had left me in charge of the turkey.
I loved to cook (still do) and I so wanted to cook Thanksgiving dinner for that day. Since my step mom had to work, it seemed like a good solution to the problem of getting everything done and on the table by dinner time.
So, she left me in charge.
Pretty much everything had been prepped before hand. The dressing was already put together as well as the casseroles and the desserts. All I had to do was bake everything. And of course, I got to start the turkey.
My first turkey. I cannot begin to tell you how excited I was to be able to do it.
So, she left this large frozen bird in the sink with the instructions to remove the giblets, stuff it, and put it in the oven. The bird would have a good two hours of cooking time in by the time Mom and Dad got home from work and she would supervise me on finishing up. Dinner would be served and everything would be perfect.
I really, really wanted this Thanksgiving to be absolutely perfect. Just like that Norman Rockwall painting.
But paintings are paintings and real life is real life, and sometimes the ideal and the reality just don’t quite come together.
I had spent the morning baking pies, making devilled eggs, stuffing celery and coaxing the cranberry sauce tout of the can. I put the pies on the breakfast bar and the appetizers in the fridge.
Then came time to put old fat Tom into the oven.
The problem was, Tom was still quite attached to his giblets. And the giblets were frozen to the back of the bird.
So here i am, all one hundred and twenty pounds of me struggling with a twenty pound bird whose giblets refuse to budge.
I poured warm water into the carcass. I tried prying them loose with a knife. I reached in and grabbed the bastards and yanked for all I was worth.
it was no go. The bird was just not ready to let go of his guts.
I looked up at the clock. Time was running out. By now I was in a panic and terrified mom would come home, exhausted from having to do the books at work and then come home to find out that dinner was going to be delayed because I couldn’t get frozen giblets out of the turkey.
You know what they say about desperate times leading to desperate measures…I took that one desperate measure, grabbed the sharpest knife in the knife block (by the handle, of course) and proceeded to hack away at poor old Tom’s breast bone.
I punctured the sternum and cracked the bird straight down the middle. At this point I was in a frenzied panic. I was still hacking away like a Norman Bates in that unforgettable scene in Psycho when I heard the garage door open.
“Patricia Louise, what are you doing to that bird?”
I stopped, my hand, with knife still clenched in my fist, poised over the turkey. I had literally split poor old Tom from stem to stern and the damned giblets were still spot welded to the back.
At this point I burst into tears. My mom told me to go to my room, which I did, and cried myself to sleep.
I was awakened to a throbbing headache and the luscious aroma of baking turkey and trimmings. I shoved my face into my pillow and cried again. I had ruined Thanksgiving. I destroyed the turkey. All my good intentions of having a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner were ruined due to one panic attack and a stupid dead turkey that wouldn’t cooperate.
I figured I was grounded. No Thanksgiving dinner. My car keys taken away, all privileges revoked. Maybe a good old fashioned beating was in order. Fifty lashes, then time served in the dungeon, chained to the wall while everyone else feasted.
I heard my mother call to me, and I got up and took the executioner’s path down the hallway. I paused at the entrance to the dining room, certain that my feeble attempt at creating the perfect Thanksgiving dinner was ruined.
Maybe everyone would start hurling food at me.
“Come sit down.”
“We’re having foot ball turkey,” my stepbrother proclaimed.
I looked at the bird. It was a beautiful golden brown, it smelled wonderful. It was also sewn up with twine in such a way that it looked like a football.
A football with drumsticks.
Again, I burst into teen angsty tears.
“Trish,” Mom said, “Why didn’t you just reach inside and pull out the giblets?”
I explained then what had happened. Nothing was said. There was no punishment, no fifty lashes, The turkey and all the trimmings was devoured with gusto. And afterwards, I got kitchen cleanup duty, followed by jokes about the turkey with the c-section.
Like I said, it wasn’t funny the day it happened. Now I can’t stop laughing about it.
The baby was sleepy and cranky . The sweet little Chihuahua wanted to comfort him by giving him a cookie. Animals really do feel empathy.
This is absolutely astonishing. I was taught nothing could survive being exposed to gamma radiation, much less feed off of it and thrive. This proves that life is far more resilient than we thought.
This is so sweet and so cute. Bravo to the compassionate man who took in this tiny creature.