My bourgeoisie neighbors bought a turkey three days ago; a fully grown turkey with a beard and a mortgage. I don’t know why they did it but my guess is, the man finally clocked 40 and is having a dire case midlife crisis. So on the eve of his 40th birthday, he turned to his wife and started:
“Baby, I want a turkey for my birthday.”
“Well, we can go to that restaurant you like and you can eat all the birds you want.” She says with a chuckle.
“I’m serious. And I don’t mean I want turkey meat. I want it as a pet.” He says with a straight face and she realizes he’s serious.
“I realized how wonderful they look.”
“Do you mean a peacock?”
“No. I mean a turkey. The one I hear poisons itself when it’s about to die.”
“Dogs look wonderful too. We should start with a dog.”
“I want a turkey.” He turns and faces the other side. “I’ve wanted a turkey since I was a boy and I never got it. Now I’m 40, I get to decide whether I want a turkey or a dog, and I pick the turkey!”
“Alright. You can have your turkey. Goodnight.” She says spitefully and faces the opposite side.
This man doesn’t know what this turkey is doing to the campus student next door, and I hate him for wanting such a shitty gift for his birthday.
A study (conducted by me) found that an average campus student requires nine hours of uninterrupted sleep in order to be happy, content and productive in their life. The turkey cuts almost three hours of this because every day at six in the morning, it gobbles irritatingly in a way you cannot just ignore and sleep. You see a turkey’s gobble is not like a rooster’s crow – it doesn’t slowly become the normal atmosphere after a few gobbles. It is dry and loud and you’ll feel an urge to give it water to cleat its throat. And even worse, it has a hell sent pattern in its gobbles. It yelps for a brief moment then goes silent, and you whisper Thank God, it’s done now, and go back to sleep. But then, it yelps again two minutes later only each time, louder. This continues for another fifteen minutes until you finally give up and totter to the bathroom with tears balancing in your eyes.
Turkey: 1 Simon: 0
It has done this three mornings now and I can’t take it anymore. My mood every morning is foul and I’m obsessed with killing this turkey. That’s why every morning after taking a bath, you’ll find me staring outside the window and again, whispering a short prayer, Lord show me this fiend. Show me the face of my enemy so I can deal with them. Amen. And so for the past three days, I have been researching and scheming on the most torturous and excruciating ways to kill it. Something nasty and messy. Something that would make Hannibal Lecter (as played by Mads Mikkelsen) shudder in his feet. It had been hard for the most part until recently, I got a breakthrough.
I will wait until the wee hours of the night when the midlife crisis guy and his family are asleep. I will wear gloves and to avoid leaving fingerprints and sneak into their compound stealthily. Once in, I will stomp my foot gently to wake it up and inevitably, because it is stupid and I hate it, it will make that disgusting sound it makes and I will know where it is. I’ll walk slowly towards it, open a small gap on the door and spray a whole can of Deep Heat till it passes out. I will tie its legs and drag it to my room and hang it upside down. Its feathers will hang down loosely exposing its naked skin. I’ll sit on my bed and stare at it until it comes to.
She It will wake up a few hours later and see me staring deadpan in its eyes. A sly smile will spread across my lips that will grow into a hysterical cachinnation like that of The Joker. It will open its eyes slowly, adjusting to the dimly lit room and ask:
“Where am I?”
“In your worst nightmare, little turkey.” I’ll say with that smile of mine. It will try and gobble and I’ll laugh even more and say, “Scream all you want. Nobody can hear you now, little turkey.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” It’ll ask with sobs in between.
“You’ve ruined my life. I can’t sleep because of you! Every morning you yelp and yelp and yelp, and I have to wake up with sleep in my eyes and head!”
“But I’m a bird. I have to do it every morning.”
“I don’t know. It is how it is. Please don’t kill me, I beg you. Let me go and I’ll be a good turkey, I won’t gobble in the morning. I swear.”
“I’m afraid it’s too late, little turkey. You’ve caused me enough suffering.” I’ll say as I slowly and dramatically approach it with the blade in my hand glimmering against the light.
“Please! Please! Please don’t d…”
The severed head will fall down, blood oozing from it and the smell of warm turkey blood and blissful revenge will fill the room.
Later on that beautiful Mashujaa Day night, I’ll have it with ugali and sleep knowing no turkey will mess up my slumber.