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The Porcupine's Quill: A Satire Column
by Arshad M. Khan
by Arshad M. Khan
Please scroll down for
the satire column
Porcupine's Quill
the satire column
Porcupine's Quill
Nov 27, 2011
A U.S. TURKEY
I am a turkey, a United States turkey, and if you know that, you know this has
been my week of living dangerously. You'd think citizenship might afford
one some protection. But no! not if you are on the out and out, not if you
are a turkey during Thanksgiving.
There was a time when we roamed free in this land -- not any more. We are
caged in huge farms, and the Indians who used to live with us are corralled
in reservations ... except they don't get butchered in the "Thanksmas"
season. Hey, go ahead and thank whoever you want to, just keep my neck
out of it.
Well, they took Michelle and me, and we went on a long ride. This was it. We
came to a huge white house where we were taken out and placed on a
table. Then this tall black dude comes out and talks about us next to
mashed potatoes and gravy and trimmings. We were cooked. Michelle's
legs failed, and, I have to admit, so did mine. Then the man raised his hand,
and we closed our eyes. Guess what! The dude laid his hand gently on us,
and said we were pardoned. What a nice guy! Then the tall lady next to him
whispered, "I eat only salads in public".
We are on this farm now, in retirement, so to speak. I have often wondered,
what did we do wrong that we had to be pardoned? Well, that's life. By the
way, I forgot to introduce myself. This gobbler is called Barack.
A U.S. TURKEY
I am a turkey, a United States turkey, and if you know that, you know this has
been my week of living dangerously. You'd think citizenship might afford
one some protection. But no! not if you are on the out and out, not if you
are a turkey during Thanksgiving.
There was a time when we roamed free in this land -- not any more. We are
caged in huge farms, and the Indians who used to live with us are corralled
in reservations ... except they don't get butchered in the "Thanksmas"
season. Hey, go ahead and thank whoever you want to, just keep my neck
out of it.
Well, they took Michelle and me, and we went on a long ride. This was it. We
came to a huge white house where we were taken out and placed on a
table. Then this tall black dude comes out and talks about us next to
mashed potatoes and gravy and trimmings. We were cooked. Michelle's
legs failed, and, I have to admit, so did mine. Then the man raised his hand,
and we closed our eyes. Guess what! The dude laid his hand gently on us,
and said we were pardoned. What a nice guy! Then the tall lady next to him
whispered, "I eat only salads in public".
We are on this farm now, in retirement, so to speak. I have often wondered,
what did we do wrong that we had to be pardoned? Well, that's life. By the
way, I forgot to introduce myself. This gobbler is called Barack.