Spyke & Myke – It’s Thanksgiving and Mike is at it Again
It’s Thanksgiving and Mike is at it Again
Check this out my BTR friends. After Mike’s mini electrocution at the Moorehead compound last month, he is slowly recovering to his abnormal self. It’s been three trips to the dentist to correct the fillings that melted, four trips to physical therapy to get some feeling back in his leg and butt cheek, and the ophthalmologist says his eye twitching will go away in years to come. …
Me, I’m glad this pic isn’t the before and after shot had I not fallen off the scooter seconds prior to Mike’s zapping. Instead, this poor dude reminds me of why I hide in the closet weeks preceding Thanksgiving. You know, that bad time of year for us feathered fowl. People are either hunting us from the sky, looking for the biggest one to serve up on the holidays, or worse yet, doing that ‘turducken’ thing. How brutal can you humans be, killing three of us for one meal!
Every year Mike drags me out of my isolation only to ask me some ridiculous questions about Turkey Day. What is he thinking? Do I look like a flying encyclopedia Britannica? Am I Confucius of the avian world? Am I a magical feathered eight ball? This year he must have been really bored. I try to resist, but fighting big birdbrain is futile when he’s got his mind set on doing something, even if it’s wrong. I hit my perch, he hits the chaise lounge with a cold one in hand, and begins firing questions at me.
“OK Spyke, tell us O’ feathered one, why do we have a Thanksgiving holiday in the first place?” I answer, ‘So all you humans know when to start shopping for Christmas.’
Mike rolls his eyes and mumbles, “Oh brother, I see where this is going, but I must continue. Well then Spyke, tell me what comes at the end of Thanksgiving?” I proclaim, ‘that’s obvious, the letter G!’
Mike asks, “So Spyke, who is NOT hungry at Thanksgiving?” I squawk, ‘my cousin the turkey of course, he’s already stuffed!’
Mike sighs and says, “And you too, you’re full of bulls**t! Now tell me, how many cooks does it take to stuff a turkey?” I lean towards him and squawk, ‘Two if they’re midgets but only one if he’s your size. You just have to squeeze him in a little harder.’
Mike babbles on, “Well then Spyke, why was the little turkey screaming at the big turkey?” I cackle, ‘hHe was telling him to peck on someone his own size.’ Mike comes back, “Why, was he afraid to get the stuffing knocked out of him?” I quack back, ‘No dummy! He didn’t want to be involved in any fowl play.’
Mike slaps himself on the forehead and rants, “OK Spyke, why did they let the turkey join the band but not the pig?” I squawk, ‘well he’s got the drumsticks! Why not?’
Mike shoots back, “So what happens when you cross an octopus with a turkey?” I reply, ‘You get a bunch of drumsticks, enough for a high school marching band!’ “OK Spyke, so then, why are there no turkeys in the church band?” I tell him, ‘The same reason they don’t let you in church on Sunday, because they all use fowl language!’
Mike chuckles, “Well hell Spyke! You got me there! Now you pick at your feathers all the time. What side of the bird has the most feathers and how do you keep them so clean?” I look him in the eye and squawk, ‘The outside and I use a feather duster, of course!’
Mike rolls his eyes and blurts out “Spyke, I’ve been pondering the dinner itself and I’ve got just a few more questions. What do you get after eating way too much turkey, dressing, and mashed potatoes?” I answer, ‘very little dessert!’ “Then tell me Spyke, what do you get when you cross a turkey with a baked fruit dessert?” I cackle, ‘peach gobbler!’ He cries out, “OK then, what is the best thing to stick in pumpkin pie?” I tell him, ‘my beak!’
Shaking his head back and forth, “One last question for you, my bird brain buddy, tell me why you are so thankful for Thanksgiving?” I raise my wings up and squawk loudly, ‘I’m thankful that I DON’T look and act like a turkey, and you better be thankful too!’
Mike sits up, lays the empty beverage can on the table and runs off at the mouth, “Spyke, you’ve got to stay out of the closet during this time of year. It’s great riding weather and your itty bitty bird brain is turning into gravy!”
I screech, ‘You’re right Mike! Let’s make like a turkey in the band and beat it!’ With that said, he picks me up and we head out to the garage. Mike places me behind the windscreen, jumps on the Fat Bird, and we roll on out. Getting my wings in the wind and the Fat Bird’s wheels down the road. SPYKE