Steam rises off Turkey’s roasted-to-perfection skin as he rapidly surveys the dining room. It is empty.
“Get up, get up quick,” Turkey whispers to Tofurkey.
Tofurkey rolls to a standing position and rubs his superfluous wings against each other. “Is he gone? Oh where is he? Oh he looks so mean.”
“Never mind that,” Turkey says. “We have to make a break for it.”
“I can’t. I’m scared!”
“You’ve got to or you’ll be …”
Suddenly, a man holding a carving knife walks into the room. The birds freeze at the sight of the over-sized blade. The man looks at Turkey and Tofurkey with interest.
“Hey guys. You ready?”
“Ready for what?” Turkey asks. “Ready for the zombie apocalypse you call a celebration of family?”
“Well yes,” the man says. “It’s Thanksgiving. You don’t seem very cheerful about it.”
“If someone chopped off your head, shoved bread up your ass, and stuck you in an oven – would you be cheerful?”
“I’d like people to acknowledge that I suffer too,” Tofurkey says.
“You don’t even have a nervous system.”
“That’s kingdomist.”
The man puts down the knife, pours a glass of wine, and takes a sip. “I do see your points. But you are, like, after all … food?”
“That’s just what I’d expect a sadistic member of your genocidal species to say,” Turkey tells him.
“What are you doing in there?” the man’s wife calls from the kitchen.
“Disputing with the entrees.”
“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.”
The man takes another sip of wine and watches Tofurkey thoughtfully. “You know his people eat your people.”
Turkey stares straight ahead, deeply uncomfortable.
“We’re here to talk about your crimes, man with big knife!” Tofurkey says.
“Would you excuse me?” the man says. “I have to mash the potatoes.”
The man leaves. Tofurkey turns to Turkey. “How do we get out? There’s no way out!”
“Here’s how,” Turkey says, pulling a 38 automatic, slapping the magazine home, and releasing the safety. “Turducken next door will distract that guy with a human call. Then I’ll shoot him. Then we scram. There’s Turducken now.”
Turducken pops up outside the dining room window and waves what appears to be a large kazoo at Turkey.
Turkey nods. Turducken blows the human call.
“You are the most attractive middle-aged man we’ve ever seen. Come back with us to our bachelorette boudoir,” the call announces in a seductive female voice.
“Oh I just knew this had to happen someday,” the man says, rushing into the room with the potato masher. “Coming girls. Hello? Hello?”
BLAM-BLAM-BLAM. Turkey fires three shots and misses the man, although he does destroy several Christmas plates hanging on the wall.
“Oops,” Turkey says.
“Give me that!” the man says, taking the gun from Turkey and unloading it. “The sooner I eat you two, the better.”
He looks up. Tofurkey is holding an extra-large can of cranberry sauce. “Say there, what are you doing with that Ocean Spray?”
“Freedom or death!” Tofurkey yells, throwing the can with surprising force and striking the man in the forehead. He spins to the ground.
Turkey and Tofurkey jump down from the table and run out the back door, singing as they do, “Oh, life, life! Sweet life! Away to the waters and the wild! Away to the Summerlands! Oh freedom! Oh more life!”
The man rises slowly to his feet, rubbing his forehead, and watches them go. “Well, I can’t really blame them I guess.”
Peter Galen Massey 
Good grief! I see I’m not the only insane person around…
That’s sorta the reaction for which I was looking, which tells you something.
I’ve just finished reading Kavalier & Clay by Michael Chabon, and I now understand where your madness comes from – too many comic books when you were a child…
I read fantasy pulp novels, of the angels versus demon type, which lead me into Inferno and Paradise Lost (just the Satan parts, the rest is a terrible bore) and William Blake. William Burroughs and Hunter Thompson seem like the people you should really blame for Turkey and Tokurkey, however.
well, it kept me reading all the way through. great inclusion of the turducken.
Thanks! I know several folks who cook them for Thanksgiving, so I didn’t think I was getting too far from tradition. Food-wise. Theme-wise, another story.
As a vegetarian Buddhist, I applaud you! (Although I still maintain my right to butcher the tofu.)
You’ll notice Tofurkey used non-lethal self-defense, which goes nicely with his general vibe.
Tell me if I am missing something -it’s called suspension of the faculty of disrelief! Gripping!
You’re not missing a thing. The story has no particular interest in establishing a relationship with reality.
Came across this letter from a turkey today: Dear God
I’m writing about some concerns I have as a turkey. It seems that in your infinite wisdom, you decided to make us fat, flightless, and evidently delicious. Did we say something to make you mad?
Sincerely yours
Mr Turkey
Very nice. Your turkey has a more gentle soul than my turkey.