How humiliating. I am a duck, and you’re going to Turducken me?

So let me get this straight.

I was leafing through a Holiday Meals leaflet from Whole Foods — very nicely crafted and pretty photographs and all — and I came across this item: Signature Turducken Dinner for 12, $299. Fully cooked, ready to be warmed.

Well, as a duck, I’m ready to be incensed.

Disgusting, at first glance, and further insulting at bargain pricing.

TURDucken, explained.

Do you know what Turducken is? You’ve probably guessed already that it isn’t great since it literally starts with the word “turd.”

But what it actually is, is that some deviant chef takes me, the duck, and stuffs a chicken up my butt. Having done that, this sadist chef then takes me and stuffs me up the butt of a turkey. Those filthy tasks complete, the “chef” then cooks this set of meaty nesting dolls in the oven and sells it to hipster and yuppie “gourmands.”

“Turducken”

I ask you: What the hell?

Ducks are dignified and fantastic.

As a duck, a proud member of the waterfowl family, with pedigree, and honored traditions, I find this to be positively humiliating. I’m a duck, look at me.

A family portrait. That’s me on the right, and my brother Tommy in the middle. Dad, on the left.

Gorgeous. Elegant. Proud.

My POV, IMHO.

Famous ducks? Donald Duck. Danger Duck. Dewey Duck.Daffy Duck. Duck Dodgers from the 21st and one half Century. Scrooge McDuck. Daisy Duck (hot!).

Famous duck dishes? Homemade Duck Confit. Duck Breasts with Peaches and Tarragon. Duck Breast & Orange Salad. Pan-Roasted Duck Breasts with Sherry, Honey & Thyme Sauce. Duck Confit. Duck Confit Salad with Great Northern Beans. Cassoulet. Crisp Duck Legs with Sautéed Potatoes. All yum.

Video game? You bet, Duck Hunt. We’ll talk about hunting in a jif.

But first …

Chickens are gross.

Let me tell you about chickens, from Wikipedia: “Chickens are a lowly common bird with bad manners, filthy habits and are unsightly and offensive smelling. Chickens are often smacked in the face by gypsies.”

Filthy chicken, photographed immediately after ravaging a trashcan.

You know what happens when you tell someone you’re going to do something and then don’t because you’re scared? Well, when that happens, they don’t call you a duck.

And turkeys stink, too.

Want to talk turkey? Again, Wikipedia: “Turkeys — the hobo birds of the earth — travel in ugly packs of a dozen or more, can’t figure out how to fly, make offensive sounds, poop more than geese, and cheat at cards.” They’ll steal your wallet and hit on your kid sister. They’re bad at setting monetary policy and will use their beaks to poke out your eyeballs.

Turkeys, ready to fall out of tree (they can’t even fly, they hopped up there).

And again, me. Just a quick refresher on ability, elegance and charm.

It’s like God’s own little Boeing 747, in beautiful livery.

Process is important.

Gotta’ be a few ducks around here someplace.

Let me tell you how ducks get killed. Royalty and elites gather 50 or so of their closest friends, 100 of their favorite hounds, 75 of their favorite thoroughbred horses, dress up in clothes and costumes that Ralph Lauren has been ripping off for decades, and then they go on a hunt with $32,000 pearl-gripped shotguns.

In contrast, a chicken is taken by dirty hands from a street market in exchange for a few coppers, and then these dirty hands grab the chicken by the neck and break it, snap, just like that. Blood goes everywhere and it’s a mess. Kids are terrified. Then, this busted up bird is put in a cauldron over an open fire. Or put live in a McNugget extruder and pressed into a shape and fried in fat.

Turkeys? Well, you hunt them too, but you wear camouflage and bright orange and ride in a truck with your cousin. Dignified? You decide.

In conclusion, a plea.

“No way I’m going near Chris Christie.”

Let me bring it around in terms you can understand. Take Danny DeVito, all 4-foot-10 of him. Take him and shove him up Cary Grant’s ass. And then take Cary Grant and shove him up Chris Christie’s ass. That’s what we’re talking about here, folks. Uncouth non-talent stuffed into elegance defined which is then stuffed into large unethical ugliness.

There should be a law. But there isn’t.

So. Going into Thanksgiving this year, I ask that you vote with your wallets and your choices at the market. Skip this monstrosity and stick with tradition. This year, go with a turkey and stuff it with what’s decent. Stuffing.

Stuffing: Perfection.
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