And That’s Why We All Ate Hamburgers For Thanksgiving

A little (hopefully) humorous fiction for Thanksgiving.

For my first Thanksgiving as host, I bought the biggest turkey they had in the store.  I wanted to try something crazy I saw on Facebook, which was to cover the exterior of the turkey with bacon because, well, everything just tastes better with bacon.  Kind of like everything tastes better on a stick, only it’s bacon so it’s better.

So when Thanksgiving Day rolled around I stuffed the turkey with, you know, stuffing.  What else would I stuff it with?  I also wrapped the outside of the turkey with strips of bacon in a weave pattern just like the picture I had seen on Facebook.

turkey covered in bacon
NOM!

I preheated the oven to 350 degrees and shoved the turkey inside the oven and went about preparing the side dishes.  Mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, broccoli casserole, and other assorted yummy stuph were on my list of things to make.

A couple of hours later, as I was just finishing up the mashed potatoes, black smoke began to seep out around the edges of the oven door.  I opened the door to see what was amiss and a giant flame leapt out of the oven and singed all the hair on my left arm and eyebrow.

“FUUUUUUUUUUCK!” I screamed in painful agony. I quickly slammed the oven door shut.

My brother burst into the kitchen to see what all the commotion was about.  I informed him of the conflagration aflame inside the oven.  He laughed mischievously at the fact that I now only had one eyebrow before going to fetch the fire extinguisher.

He quickly returned with the extinguisher in hand.  “You open the door since you’re,” he stopped and laughed a moment more before continuing, “since you’re already missing a bunch of hair.”

I smacked him upside the head with my oven mitt.  “Just shut up and get ready to put out this fire,” I growled.

I moved to the right of the oven door while my brother pulled the pin on the fire extinguisher and readied himself to, uh, fire.

“On the count of three,” I instructed.

My brother nodded.

We simultaneously counted to three.  I quickly pulled the over door open and jumped out of the line of fire (did you see what I did there?).  The deafening roar of the extinguisher then assaulted my ears.  I turned to see the entire kitchen covered with the unmistakable cloud of the fire extinguisher’s contents and, of course, smoke from my failed attempt to cook Thanksgiving dinner.  Within seconds, however, the exhaust fan had sucked the fire-retardant chemicals and smoke from the kitchen.

After the smoke had cleared, my brother and I inspected the remains of Thanksgiving “dinner.”  The humongous turkey I had bought was burned black and the bottom of the roasting pan was charred with crispy, burned grease.  The only reasonable conclusion my brother and I could come to is that the bacon grease at the bottom of the roasting pan had burned and then caught fire.

Needless to say, the turkey was no longer edible.  And that’s why we all ate hamburgers for Thanksgiving.

 

Desperate Escape

I awoke in an unfamiliar room. I had no memory of how I’d gotten here. It was as if I had only just come into existence, or some magical force transported me here while simultaneously depriving my mind of the events which led me here.

The walls were dank, and sparsely covered with flowered wallpaper that looked like it had been applied decades ago.  Patches of wallpaper were missing from the wall, exposing ancient white paint darkened by time and marred by mold.  The air was suffocatingly musty.  A lonely lightbulb hanging from a grungy fixture in the ceiling wanly lit the room.

Before me were three withered doors.  The doors were worn and covered with cracks.  All three doors had rusty knobs that appeared to be loose and hung low or to the side.  The hinges were rusted, too, and missing screws.

I gazed around this downtrodden room but found no other discernible objects.  The three doors appeared to be the only ways in or out.  I was at a loss as to which door I should use to exit, so I arbitrarily chose the middle door.

Hey, that decision always works for me when I have to choose a finger to raise.

I pulled the door open, and it creaked like I would scream were I on fire.  No light shone through and there was only darkness to behold.  I stood there for a few moments waiting for something to happen; what I do not know.  For reasons I don’t comprehend, I decided to proceed through this door.

Fear began to permeate my body.  My heart rate began to rise and my breathing became quick and shallow.  I placed a timid foot into the murky room and then waited.  Nothing happened.  I took another step and then waited still.  Again nothing happened.  I took another step and then another.  With each step my fear eased and my body became more relaxed.  Just when I was starting to think that there was nothing to fear, my worst fears came to fruition.

A blinding light suddenly lit everything and a deafening boom simultaneously rang out, pounding my ears and shaking the ground.  I reflexively closed my eyes and turned my head, shielding my eyes with my hands.    I fell to the floor and curled into the fetal position and began to fear for my life.  Tears flowed down my cheeks like a river and I began to wail like an infant.

I lay there, sobbing uncontrollably for a handful of moments before I began to hear a sound slowly start to rise above my weeping.  It sounded like cheering.  Like a crowd at a concert or a sporting event.  The sound steadily grew louder until it was so audibly overbearing that I couldn’t hear the sounds of my wails any longer.  Even though the noise was vociferous nothing ill was befalling me.  I was eventually able to calm myself down enough to stop crying.  Curiosity began to outgrow my fear.  I gathered up enough courage to uncover my eyes and what I saw sent chills down my spine.

I was in the midst of a leviathan crowd, cheering.  For what I did not know.  I surveyed the crowd and was horrified.  A woman with close-cropped blond hair wore a crown made of copper wire and had a goatee. Her eyebrows were horribly drawn on her face with a marker.

Another woman with shoulder length blond hair had on tinted stoner glasses and was dressed in a see-through mesh blouse underneath an unzipped black leather jacket.  She also had haphazard eyebrows drawn on with a marker.  Her ample lips were pretentiously red, and a mole resided off to the side of her nose resting comfortably on her right cheek.

Then I saw an Asian woman wearing a wig with long blue hair which cascaded halfway down her back.   Her lips were drowning in red lipstick and she had a gold chain around her neck with a black heart charm hanging from the bottom.  It was when I saw her attire that I realized where I was.  And it was then that sheer terror gripped my heart.

The Asian woman was wearing a white t-shirt with a picture of Lady Gaga on it.

As I scanned the crowd I realized that hundreds of fists were raised high in the air and the cheers were for her, if she is indeed a her.  Then the lights again went out.  Blackness blanketed everything.  Off in the distance multicolored strobe lights began to flash on a stage only a few hundred feet in front of me.  First red.  Then purple.  There was a large white sphere in the middle of the stage which had a hologram of Lady Gaga’s face on it.  A throng of hands in the air holding cameras captured the horror taking place before me.  Blue smoke began to envelop the stage.  Then it emerged from the sphere and the crowd went absolutely wild.  The decibel level jumped to triple digits in milliseconds.  It was wearing attire so ridiculous my vocabulary is insufficient to describe it.

Embed from Getty Images

The music started, if that’s indeed what that was.  Dancers in equally ludicrous attire appeared out of nowhere and began to gyrate wildly as the beat to Born This Way began its assault on my ears.  It was at this point that I realized that this was a nightmare. There was no way in hell I would voluntarily attended an event such as this. I’d rather be waterboarded.

I clinched my eyes and willed myself to wake up.

It started singing.

I pinched myself with all of the strength that I could muster.

My mama told me when I was young

I clicked my heels together three times.

We are all born superstars

I slapped my face.  Hard.

She rolled my hair and put my lipstick on

I began to choke myself.

In the glass of her boudoir

Someone stopped me.

There’s nothin’ wrong with lovin’ who you are

I pulled a large hammer from my pocket and smashed it into my face.

She said, “’cause He made you perfect, babe”

I yanked a grenade out of my pocket and pulled the pin.

So hold your head up girl and you’ll go far

Someone ganked the grenade and threw it across the arena.

Listen to me when I say

When the grenade exploded I finally awoke.

I shot up from my bed, finally back in reality. My bedroom was devoid of light save for the flashing LED on my cell phone, alerting me to new notifications. The air was cold yet my body was drenched with sweat.

I sauntered down the stairs and into my kitchen so I could choke down a melatonin tablet. I would certainly need help getting back to sleep after that nightmare.

What a fucked up dream.

Journal Entry: September 3, 2514

Journal Entry: September 3, 2514

Exciting news! The Ohio Valley has recently been deemed safe from harmful radiation leftover from the Great Nuclear Holocaust of the early 21st century. We’ve finally been granted permission from the UN to begin sifting through the remains of the once thriving metropolis of Cincinnati.

Image via world3001.wordpress.com

My team and I decided to begin at the far south of the tri-state area and work our way north. We began at what used to be the intersection of I-75 and I-275 loop. The suburban sprawl surrounding the crisscrossing freeways appears to have been a mix of restaurants, businesses, and homes. I began with the remains of a community of townhouses just east of the junction, which is located approximately 20 miles south of the GE plant which took the brunt of the attack.

One particular home stuck out to me. There was one home completely inundated with Star Wars paraphernalia. I discovered many frames with the charred remains of what were once Star Wars posters, completed Star Wars puzzles, and autographed Star Wars art. There were dozens of die-cast replicas from the famed movie franchise. The replicas looked to be in good condition other than the paint being completely scorched by the intense radiation of the blast. No doubt these trinkets will fetch a hefty sum of currency once they’ve been cleaned up and the gunk carefully removed. The skeletal remains of a handful of plastic toys sat perched upon a mountain of soot, like they had been doused in fuel and ignited. The emaciated remains of two bookshelves held the ashes of what must have been over a hundred books. I hypothesize those shelves held nothing but Star Wars books, as what discernible remains I could find were those of Star Wars books.

There were carbonized remains of destroyed electronics throughout the home. There must have been a computer and/or television in every room of the house! That fits with the descriptions we have of nerds in the 21st century. That, and the Star Wars obsession. From what I can gather, this archaic equipment was all networked together somehow to facilitate the sharing of information. I find it fascinating how different life was nearly 500 years ago. It appears everyone had their own private networks and could lock them away behind firewalls, preventing others from accessing their data. Trying that in today’s society would earn you a lifetime prison sentence, obviously.

What really struck me about this particular townhouse, however, were the sheer amount of photos littered about the rubble. Every wall in this home must have been adorned with pictures. Actual physical photographs. Intact pieces of glass were seized inside the disfigured remains of wooden and plastic frames. Most of the salvageable photos were those of children. There were pictures of a set of blond twin boys in various stages of childhood, along with those of a toddler with reddish-brown hair. And stormtroopers. Pictures of stormtroopers everywhere. Someone had an unhealthy obsession with stormtroopers.

I plan on revisiting this home tomorrow for further study. I was quite perplexed by the facilities in these townhouses. It appears there was a network of piping underneath these “civilized” areas which pumped water into these homes. And waste out of them. It’s hard to fathom such barbaric sanitary methods when we take for granted the moisture vaporators (which, ironically, had their roots and ideology in the very first Star Wars motion picture) which are standard in our homes today. Also, it looks like electricity was supplied through a similar structure of wired networks. This is all fascinating, really.

I can’t wait to see what I discover tomorrow!


Inspired by today’s Daily Prompt.

Magical Rainbow Tunnel

I was startled awake this morning. I had just slapped the snooze button on my alarm clock (because, seriously, who wakes up on the first try?) and was just about back to sleep when a deep voice rattled the room and nearly made me piss my pants.

“AHEM!”

A dark-skinned man stood by my bed, arms crossed and a look of dire disappointment on his face. I couldn’t see his feet, but judging from this man’s posture and expression I would guess that he was impatiently tapping his toes. He was attired like Prince Ali Baba (Aladdin, people. Keep up with me.), except his clothes we sparkling as if they’d been bedazzled. Or glitter-bombed. It’s refreshing to know Michael Jackson’s tailor found work after he passed.

Like this, except the smile was upside down and the clothes were sparkling like a Mr. Clean commercial (Advert, for you crazy Brits.).

“Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my room?” I asked him crazily. I didn’t mean for it to sound crazy, but I had just been startled awake, there was a strange man in my room (dressed like an Arab prince, no less), and I hadn’t had a single drop of coffee. I wasn’t sure which of these things was the most dire. In fact, I wasn’t entirely sure I wasn’t still asleep and stuck in some bizarre dream.

“I am a genie, but not your typical genie,” the Arabian prince(ss?) responded.

No words were necessary to convey just how skeptical I was of this man’s claim. I felt the pressure on my eyes as my eyebrows sunk as low as they possibly could. My slack jaw was agape. My facial expression was the instant message equivalent of saying “………”.

The self-proclaimed genie continued. “I am a genie, but my wish-granting capability has been severely limited. In fact, I only have one power so I can’t really grant wishes. I’m not even sure why I still refer to myself as a genie.”

“That’s great. Really, it is,” I interrupted. “Let’s get to the part that explains why you’re in my room, waking me up, and dressed like a glitter-bombed Arabian prince.”

“Ha ha,” the “genie” chuckled humorlessly. “Let’s don’t be an asshole, mkay? I’m here to do you a favor.”

“Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight. And that favor is?”

“I can build you a magical tunnel that will quickly and secretly connect your home with the location of your choice — anywhere on Earth. Where would you like me to build that tunnel?”

Well, this HAS to be a dream, I thought. This is one of the most asinine things I’ve ever dreamt, too. 

“That’s an awfully odd thing to be able to grant. Especially in this day in age where anywhere on Earth can be reached in a matter of hours.”

“Not like this,” the genie rejoined, a prideful look on his face. “The magical tunnel I create for you will allow you to travel it instantaneously! If your tunnel connects to Myrtle Beach you’re there just like that!” the genie cried while snapping his fingers for emphasis. “It’s like, ‘Beam me up, Scotty!’ So where would you like to go? Vegas? Miami? New York? London? Hawaii?”

I knew this was a dream, but I saw no harm in playing along. The worst thing that could happen is that I woke up. I considered this proposition carefully. Where would I like to go instantaneously? Oklahoma, where one of my best friends resides? England, where another does? Australia, where my BFFFL lives? Myrtle Beach? Disneyland? California? The possibilities were endless! After I thought about it, though, the answer was quite simple.

“Detroit.” I answered.

Ah, Detroit, Pearl of the Orient!,” the genie said in a pitiful imitation of Gex. “Really… DETROIT? Out of all the places in the entire world you could go, you want to go to Detroit on a regular basis? For the love of Robin Williams, WHY?”

“Easy,” I retorted. “The majority of my family lives there and I rarely get to see them. In fact, I haven’t been back in years because I just haven’t had the money to go. Gas is expensive, as are hotels. With your magical tunnel, I can travel there in an instant and come back when I’m finished. No gas or hotel needed. I can save money to go to those other places.”

The genie considered this momentarily. “I see. I think I understand. This decision cannot be undone, though. Are you sure this is where you want your tunnel to lead?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okie dokie. One magical tunnel to Detroit coming right up!”

The genie pulled a wand from his pants. I almost asked what else he kept in there. Or where, precisely, that wand was hiding this entire time. He began waving the wand around erratically while chanting in some language I did not recognize. One of the books on my Star Wars shelf began glowing. As the genie’s chant grew in intensity, so did the glow of my book. Closer inspection revealed that the glowing book was A New Hope, which seemed fitting somehow. The genie’s chants eventually ended, and the glow faded.

“What did you just do to my book?” I asked quizzically.

“That book is the catalyst for your tunnel.” The genie opened the door to my living room closet. “This door normally takes you to the Star Wars universe, yes?”

I nodded.

He closed the door, then pulled the book out about halfway. He then opened the door again. There was a magical, multicolored glow emanating from somewhere inside the closet. He looked at me with a smirk and said, “Follow me.” He then entered the door.

Intrigued, I followed him.


Audience Participation Time!
Where would you build a magical tunnel to?