Classic🐐(2018)🦃

 Surviving 🦃 Diary

PARENTAL ADVISORY: The events you are about to read about are some of the most horrific, mind bending, godawful things that have ever taken place in the history of birdkind. Please refrain from digesting this meal if you are a founding member of an aviary fan club, really love the movie The Big Year and/or are or have ever been Michael Keaton. 

     It was a fourth Thursday of November just like any other fourth Thursday of November or any Thursday at all for that matter. The little skies had transformed to big skies as they are wont to do this time of year, finally opening up and raining down Siamese kitties and Golden Retrievers, many of whom bickered with each other the whole way to the ground, a downpour of the most Hallmark order. Turkey Town was bustling with excitement for the upcoming winter, the animal's favorite season as they are able to show off their feathers proudly in the annual Turkey Trot Snowflake Ball that is hosted by the local Holiday Inn as many of the participants look forward all year to boasting about their wonderfully comfortable stay at the amazing, affordable chain hotel. A sudden change in the winds blew into town, however, when the Siamese kitties and Golden Retrievers turned into unlucky black cats and big ol' nasty Pit Bulls (and, also, in an incredible turning of the TMZ Thanksgiving dinner tables, the Latin entertainer Pit Bull was there too, juicing up the cats and dogs with his wise fist pump prowess, neck tie that has long been undone and jostled askew through a series of intense thrusting movements that would literally break that dancing Wii game and night club bottle service antics.) In a matter of Instagram stories, a bunch of peeps wearing hats like Pharrell wore at the Grammy's stormed into Turkey Town with menace on their mind, undying thirst in their gullet and a roaring fire in their pot bellies.

     A pile of burning tires, other automobile parts and innocent giblets was about to be set ablaze, the cold flame dancing and prancing through the big skies, carving, slicing and dicing (with more power than an electric knife that could delve through a turkey like a pinky finger ruining an unsuspecting stick of butter) its own path of destruction. The pile fire was started as a warning from the Pharrell Hatters to the honest, hard working turkeys of Turkey Town - Hell hast cometh in the form of a grand ol' feast as the miniature egg timer don bing-ethed and not a moment too tardy. Thousands upon thousands of feathered friends gobbled and gawked as they waddled and squawked towards the emergency exits of Turkey Town. However, in a terrible turning of the illustrious tide, the only bridge leading out of town had long since become fully jam packed in a handful of Twitter Moments as Toni the Turkey, the architect of Turkey Town, gradually realized her blue print for said town was gravely inefficient in all of its beautifully terrible design. The mob of Pharrell Hatters, both anger and hunger climbing the charts faster than Microsoft's stock in the 80s, took their pitchforks and torches in hand and drove them deep into the heart of the ever growing pyramid of poor turkeys who were trying with all their might, digging farther than a 5K Turkey Trot for charity into the depths of despair, to escape the place they had once loved to call home. A lone Pharrell Hatter, gasping for breath, emerged victoriously from the heap of bird brains, holding a gored and ravaged snood far above her head and presenting the foul, dismembered fowl body part as a token of gratitude to the gods of the avifauna to thank them for the bountiful farming season that they had gifted her peoples and all the other farming peoples and thus commenced the annual ceremony that we know today as Thanksgiving.