The Dead Birds
by Ed Ahern
shushing noises. Phil, its Christmas.
Pretend its veal. Or pork.
tastes like greasy cardboard. Ill tell my
brother Ive gone Vegan.
been to your cookouts. They already know you
scrape vegetables off your plate.
but anything is better than butt-stuffed avians.
What about a dietary restriction? Im
allergic to bird meat, ask for a burger instead?
Weve been going to your brothers
family for Christmas for almost a quarter century,
and youve never told him you hate his
turducken. Either man up and tell him or suffer
silent, but refused to suffer. He brooded, but
only came up with one idea. He called a friend
suspected of pyromaniac tendencies. Rob,
how could I set fire to a deep-frying turducken?
fun. Not that Id know anything about this,
but youd need a hefty accelerant to ignite
the mix. What does your brother fry the birds in?
a traditionalist- uses lard.
heat-stable, youll need more than lighter
fluid. Just hypothetically, Id get a
squeeze bottle, the cylindrical kind you can hide
in the breast pocket of a jacket. Then fill the
bottle with 150-proof vodka. If anyone smells
alcohol, claim youd been drinking. Its
Hecate, hunc cremari quaeso.
it. Then squirt vodka into the fryer and dribble
the dregs down the side so it ignites the mix.
Hide the squirt bottle and yell FIRE!
Then watch the fun.
Thanks. I owe you.
back by taking a phone video. I, ah, keep an
anthology of this stuff.
The deep fryer
erupted like Etna, and the stench of burnt bird
filled the yard. Phils brother cried as he
removed the charred corpses. Then he licked his
fingers, smiled, and put the trimmed bird bits on
a dinner platter.
reluctantly cut into the smoky turducken chunks
on his plate, and slowly chewed. And smiled at
his brother. Its a miracle, tastes