Happy Thanksgiving

It's time for Tom to lose his wattled head. He's designated martyr for the feast. We pluck him naked and stuff him with bread Then roast his hapless carcass whole or pieced. We carve, dismember, separate his flesh and pile it high upon a festive plate. Oh, Butterball you juicy thing, so fresh and tasty, every bite is simply great. Although we never heard him gobble without a head he cannot demonstrate. A turkeys future cannot be squabbled his life is brief and predetermined fate. Without a turkey there's no misgiving there would not be a Happy Thanksgiving.