Crying Fowl
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Man, isn't that idyllic.
I like this picture for its mixture of turkeyscat pseudo-history
and potential for inventive captioning.
Pilgrim Matron: Well, that makes sense! Dark meat for thee!
Pilgrim Padre: (thinking to self) O, when shall the festivities make way for the after-feasting footy?
King Lear (beruffed): I scent a treason and turning against upon the winds.
Earl of Kent: I shall eat no fish. The venison smells sweet, however.
Miles: Priscilla, I lay awake last eve with thoughts of thy sweet corn pudding!
Priscilla: Mind your countenance, Miles!
I mayn't stand closer than two feet to thee -- our elders
condemn the wicked thoughts of handholding such proximity shall produce!
Etc... Please! Add thy own!
But most importantly, know that I am thankful for each of thee, dear blogpals,
and PLEASE,
enjoy thy feasting and football, and have a
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"You ever notice you never seem to get laid much on Thanksgiving? I think it's because all the coats are on the bed." -- George Carlin
Comments
Happy Thanksgiving back at ya!
Nice pic.