The Great Turkey Conspiracy of '23
Mrs. Higgins tried to roast a turkey in the garbage disposal. It launched like a greasy torpedo and landed in Uncle Steve’s lap—wearing only underwear and a 'Kiss the Cook' apron.
Let me tell you about Mrs. Higgins. Mrs. Higgins is the sort of woman who treats Thanksgiving not as a holiday, but as a military occupation. Her kitchen is a Level 4 Bio-Hazard zone of flour and gravy.
This year, her target was a 22-pound turkey. She brined it, she butter-rubbed it, she whispered sweet nothings to it. She even gave it a name: "Colonel Sanders."
At precisely 2:00 PM, disaster struck. The oven died. Not a flicker, not a sputter—just a cold, metallic indifference.
Mrs. Higgins did not cry. She calculated. Her eyes fell upon the garbage disposal.
"An appliance of heat," she mused. "A chamber of warmth. Surely, it can roast a bird."
Now, I must clarify: Mrs. Higgins was not a stupid woman. She was merely a woman driven mad by the pressure of Pinterest-perfect sides. She stuffed the turkey legs-first into the sink drain, turned on the hot water tap to "Scalding," and engaged the disposal.
For five glorious minutes, it worked. Steam rose. The kitchen warmed. The turkey spun. It was a ballet of culinary desperation.
Then, the fire department arrived.
It seems the smoke detectors weren't triggered by smoke, but by the sheer velocity of the turkey. Mrs. Higgins had created a centrifugal force cooker. The turkey became a projectile. It launched out of the sink like a greasy torpedo, skidded across the linoleum, and crashed into the living room, landing squarely in the lap of Uncle Steve, who was asleep and wearing only his underwear and a "Kiss the Cook" apron.
The turkey was raw in the middle. Uncle Steve was scalded. The kitchen sink was never the same.
Thanksgiving dinner was ordered from Domino's. Mrs. Higgins now uses the garbage disposal exclusively for small rodents and regret.
JollyPen’s Moral of the Story:
If your turkey fits in the sink, it’s not a turkey—it’s a warning. Also, never trust a woman who names her poultry after a colonel.
Bonus Trivia: Uncle Steve still keeps the turkey’s left drumstick in a shadow box. He calls it "The Wing of Destiny."
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