Dear Butterball,
I am pecking this on an old manual typewriter that I found in the barn, so please bear with me as I attempt to convey the reasons why I should not be picked for slaughter this week.
First of all, I've been a good bird all my life. Going on eight months now. I try not to ruffle any feathers here or stick
my beak where it doesn't belong.
I know you probably heard about the incident with my fellow pen-mate Thad. I want to take this opportunity to explain.
I realize now that it was wrong of me and my 1,756 other feathered friends to tease him about his name. We couldn't help ourselves. Contrary to popular belief, we turkeys do have a sense of humor. When Thad began telling us his problems, we simply said we felt "thorry" for him and hope he didn't get "thaughtered"
like "Thamuel" did last "Thaturday".
I regret that ever happened. Who knew he'd cross the razor wire and attempt "thuicide"? ha! ha! ha!
Secondly, although I appear to be rather fat and very rotund, I must advise you that beneath this outer covering is a very muscular
bird. I have legs like steel and a six pack you wouldn't believe.
Only a moron would want to serve my tough hide up on a silver platter.Plus, there was this problem I had a few months ago with chicken pox and I feel that it could still be contaminating my system. I even get goose bumps.
In most part, I am one of the most intelligent birds in the flock.
And believe me- there is only a handful in this institution.
I don't go around drowning in the rain or mating with just any turkey at the Mealworm and Pellet Bar. I consider myself sophisticated beyond measure, and therefore, insist that you take the dummies first so that the rest of us might provide you with a far superior strain of poultry bloodline.
I have never once eaten my food and said "gobble, gobble". My gosh, have they no manners? I was brought up to eat slowly and chew my food well.(Even though I don't have teeth).I prefer to say "Yum, yum" instead. Who wants a Thanksgiving turkey that says 'Yum, yum?"
I've seen what you do at the Big House- those electrocutions you carry out on our kind - the process that includes no jury or judge.
Then we're all flash frozen and taken somewhere to be stuffed. I could cluck pretty loud to my constituants and I truly believe that you don't want to mess with thousands of mad, stinky birds.
You saw what happened to Tippi Hedren in Hitchcock's masterpiece.
All I'm saying is, hundreds of turkeys attacking a phone booth can do some amazing damage.
I know that you will come around to see things my way. I will stay in my bunk most of the day, so you let the fellas know not to pick me when they come for their quota.
Besides, what would happen if a nasty rumor started about the bird flu? Don't think that would be good for business. I am certainly not above resorting to blackmail in order to save my neck.
Here's to a long life. For us both.
Sincerely,
Tyson Hormel Kretschmar
