Story Time!

So one way that I get my brain going is by telling myself outrageous stories…it’s a lot like when I have way too much caffeine but for creative purposes. Usually they make no sense without the context of my life, but every once and a while I get some nuggets. It’s how I come up with concepts for Boy’s Cat…or any other art that I do.

From now on, whenever you see Story Time! as a post header, you know it’s going to be one of these outlandish little episodes that I have. So here you go! My first Story Time!

So, once upon a time, there was this turkey named Harold. He was from the renaissance and went around telling tales of how his girlfriend was eaten by a king. Little did Harold know, he was the first animal activist. Many in history argue that an animal who is standing up for animal’s rights is not an animal’s rights activist…but they’re wrong.

One day, he was a-strollin’ down the road to a town that was known for its famines. Oh, the famines they had. Never had there been such a variety of famine-types as you could suffer in this town. It was such a freaky twist of nature that it became a tourist trap for those that wanted to witness the strange and rare famines they had to offer…like a cheese famine. Some said it couldn’t be done, but they were proved wrong when the milk that was milked from this town’s cows refused to turn to cheese. Some marveled…others just wondered if the town’s folk were just stupid. Thus was the destination of our good friend Harold.

He arrived on a day of celebration. The town had just gotten over a terrible tuna famine (much to the delight of children whose palates cursed the existence of tuna salad in all its various forms) and many were preparing tuna salad in various forms (much to the distaste of children whose pallets cursed the existence of such things). Amongst the commotion, Harold managed to find his way to the local turkey pit, where he found, as one might easily guess, turkeys. He struck up a tune at once, and sang, most beautifully, the tale of his lost love.

The local turkeys listened, well, and with each passing verse a tear welled up in the eyes of every one of them. When Harold strummed his final notes, a silence came over the crowd of turkeys, a silence befitting of a magical experience such as the one they had just witnessed. This lasted until a larger turkey by the name of Hollandaise inquired of Harold about his tale. Harold assured him that the events described in the song had come to pass but three short months ago and it was this series of events that had led him to travel in the name of his trade. The local turkey’s were moved to the point of restlessness. Hollandaise struck the nearest post of the turkey pen in protest.

“We shall not take such abuse,” he cried. “Turkey’s can love, why should we be kept from fulfilling that love!”

The other turkeys gobbled in agreement, and, much to Harold’s delight, they began marching through the town, proclaiming their protest. One of the townsfolk, a child whose palate did not allow him to enjoy a celebration of tuna salad in its various forms, noticed the parade of angry turkeys and decided to investigate.

“What do you turkeys think you are doing?”                                                                                                                                                               “We are protesting the treatment humans have towards turkeys,” explained Hollandaise.                                                                   “Yeah, WE QUIT!!” exclaimed a rather passionate turkey amongst their ranks.                                                                                            “Quit? What is it you are quitting?” puzzled the boy.                                                                                                                                                 “We hadn’t thought about that…what is it we turkeys do?”                                                                                                                                   “Well,” said the boy, “the only thing I can really think of is you being our dinner.”                                                                                      “The lad’s right, we must be striking our jobs as meals!”

The turkeys stopped. Now that their motives were out in the open like that they were rather distressed. The boy, whose palate was not too fond of turkey, either, suggested that they protest elsewhere, as they may easily be captured in the streets. The turkeys agreed, and made a clean get-away, on account of the fact that every one was much too busy celebrating having tuna salad in its various forms back in their lives.

The next day the turkeys were out in the next field starting their new lives as free turkeys and the towns folks had added another famine to their list, which was much to their dismay, as they were looking forward to something other than tuna salad in its various forms from the day before.

Moral: If you’re a turkey, don’t be foolish enough to go on strike because in the wild you immediately get gobbled up by foxes, coyotes, bears, and other animals whose pallets are rather fond of anything that is easy to hunt.

So there you have it folks. A rather good dose of my random little brain. I hope you liked it, despite its shortcomings as a fully developed story.

Blissfully yours,


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