Turkeys must die!

In four days, many Americans will be stuffing the turkey and then stuffing themselves. We who feast will all need to be wearing sans-a-belt pants or ones with very forgiving elastic waistbands. Once more, we slaughter an innocent turkey (if there is such a thing) for our dining table, add gravy from the fat drippings, potatoes with butter, stuffing, sweet potatoes with marshmallows, Jello salads made with fruit and cream cheese, cranberry sauce, rolls and butter, green beans with weird little onion rings on top and creamy mushroom soup all around, pumpkin, mincemeat (who invented that nasty-tasting stuff?),pecan and other pies with whipped cream, egg nog to toast the holiday and then we all pass out on the couch, in a chair, on a bed, in the kitchen, etc. and let our arteries do their work. I can hear the clog, clog, clog sound as it echoes through the house of sleeping, lethargic, "I overate" humans. Even the dog is experiencing a food coma from his overindulgence of Alpo with gravy. We wait all year for this event. We eat until we can't put a sliver of anything more into our gullet and then we all smile with gratitude for all the bounty we have in our lives and which we have tried to inhale in one sitting! The groaning begins. The coma sets in. And feeling like a boa constrictor who has swallowed a goat, we sleep. When we finally wake up, we begin discussing what more we can do culinary-wise at next year's feast and then we return home, find the next size up in our stretchy pants and prepare for the Christmas repast. Ho, ho, ho! and pass the gravy!!