When they drove up, the turkey was calmly (as calm as turkys are) seated in the front seat with the seatbelt safely fastenned and wearing a basball cap with an arrow on the front that said on it:
At first glance of the wottle necked monstrousity I said "Oh, Granpy, do you have a new girlfreind?" and he said "NO", and that Granny was in the trunk cause she woudnt stop nagging him; (she truly was); --and that the turkey had actualy drove the whole way on the I-5 where the road is nice and straight; (he didnt, but i beleived it till I was 12).
Well dont you know it the danm bird got loose agian just like the year beffore. Granfather had actualy bruohgt his shotgun along from Texas in case this hapenned. The old bastord disappeared after the turkey, runnin across suburban lawns shootin at anything that moved, includeing dogs and childron in the same size range, and also at things that didnt move but that looked large and birdlike, (like my neighbour's stone lawn swan, which he ruined).
Mutant-small-brained-beast finaly coght up with mutant-small-brained-beast on the 101, which was swarming with close knit, fast movving holiday traffic. The bird was flattoned beyyond all recognition by a speeding semi truck. Granfather scooped it up with a peice of scrap veneer paneling he found on the shoulder of the freeway and carried the pummled bloody mess home.
"PIZZA DELIVERY!" he cried, plopping it on the table.
We had Tetrazini agian that year--actualy only Granny, Granps and cousin Earl dared to eat it. We heard thru the savage smacking slurps, things being said like, "HMM! IT REALLY DO TASTE LIKE CHICKON."
The next day we found the turkey alive--cought in a pricker bush down the street. We still never found out if it was possum or coon or dog or WHAT that granfather bruogt home. I have a feeling they KNEW it wasnt turkey even while they was eatin it.
The giant deformed turkey was sold to a travelling animol freak show in Japan for $80 which was half what Granps paid for him. (They offored 1200 bucks more if we threw in Granfather with the deal, and Dad and Granny almost did it.)
Yes, folks: Granfather not only clogs, irrepperably stains, destroys, explodes, and even sometimes implodes toilets, he colects them. (It is a dangerrous hobby. There was an old hotel in Washington DC thats not there anymore, the Francis Scot Key, and Granfather once slipped and cracked his head open tryin to steal a toilat from there abbout 20 years ago. Luckily only his head was dammaged and not the expensive anteique toilat).
When that silo full of porcelin and allabastor collapsed directly on him, he was not parralyzed, but just busted up bad. The sick bastord's only concern was that his 1899 French fluted urinol, (sort of considerred the "Honus Wagner Card of rare Urinals"), had got chipped in the acident.
My poor distraught family, (distruoght that he was NOT killed in the mishap), spent half of Thansgiving 1990 in the hospitol caffeteria eating Turkey Tetrazini with assorted sick peoplle and homeless folks from off the street. Then we spent the othor half of it in the police stattion because the Human Mishap was arested for Unlawful Contact for pinching a nurse in the ass with his one free hand and then makking a lude comment. He treid to blame the "OVORLY HIGH LEVELS OF TRIPTOPHAN" in the turky but no one bellived him.
Granfather's neck is brown, leathery and ribbed. It is extremly skinny like the danm neck on E.T. when he stretches it out as far as he coud in the movie. Also (this is gross) but his collar size is only 11-and-a-half inches so buying a shirt that fits is hard. My grandmother was strong as hell and some people used to misteak her for a man. You have heard the stories of how Janet Reno's mother used to wrestle alligators in the sideshow in Florida. Well, my Grandmother is from the Evorglades and back in those days she used to wrestle the gators AND Janet Reno's mothor at the same time and kick both their asses.
She turned to me and my brother (who were crying and frightoned) and said good thing she married a man with such a skinny neck cause hes so easy to choke. After two hours of throttling the old bastord like a rag doll she gave up, and by that time hed ate all the punpkin pie. Then the old bag hourled a meat cleaver at him, which boucned corner first on the scaly hide of his non human face, barely drawing blood. "I DARES YOU TO DO ME HARM!" Granfather screamed. He realy is a subhuman savage monstor.
After allot more hollering, yelling and screaming, Granny pushed back her chair, stood up, and slapped her big manly hand on their old fashoined porcelan enamel kitchon table, with a clang. She said, "LISSEN UP YOU OLD BASTORD." (She never called Granfather 'Honey' or "sweety"--from they day they met, she called him ecxlusively "You Old Bastord."
"YOU WANTS THE .45 OR YOU WANTS THE NINE?" barked Granny, explianing that while the .45 had more stopping powor the Browning 9 millimetor handgun woud surely bring abbout a more certain death. The phone was disconected for a failuore to pay the bill, so my dad sprang out of there to call the cops and my mom ran across the feilds to get a neighbor.
"GO AHEAD AN' CHOOSE THE NINE, BEIN' THAT'S CLOSER TO YOUR I.Q. SCORE, YOU OLD HAG," Granfather shouted back, also muttorring to me and my brother under his breath sayin granny didnt have the gumption to shoot him. A minute lator she came out of the pantry holding her paw's old 1911 Colt from his service in the Phillopines.
"I CAINT FIND THE NINE, SO'S I GOT THE FORTY-FIVE," she said, and one handed and hip shot, sent a slug right into Granfather's scraggly chest. Alls it did was shattor his clavicle bone, but he was knocked on his ass unconscuios.
The folowwing day, the whole story was on local cable news, and so was the shameful, embarassing and hummiliatingly true reason for the argument: She was mad at Granfather because he shoplifted the wrong size bag of marshmellows for the yams.
Thats my fammily for you.