For the past week, I've noticed a wild turkey lurching in the bushes just outside my home. He looks somewhat confused but sharp as a tack. I know if I take enough steps toward him, he'll front line me and peck out my eyeballs. It is a rare event for any wild animal to roam the streets of Haubstadt - a small German community like this one will not allow anything without a bank account to show themselves for long. No sir, you will need gainful employment to walk these streets or to hide in the bushes. My thoughts are that this beast should have to pay taxes.

This morning as I walked back into my house, I noticed this old woman across the street wearing a nightgown that looked like a bed sheet ripped off from an old Howard Johnsons. And she was feeding that godforsaken turkey! That and she had enough nerve to be eating peanut butter sandwiches in front of it.

"Be careful lady,” I shouted. "I think he'll attack when the time is right! That fiend has been hiding in my bushes for days waiting for an opportunity like this. And what the heck are you feeding it?"

"Corn" she replied. "Turkeys like corn… that and potato chips… his name is Guthrie."

"Sweet Jesus lady, you gave that wild beast a name? It can't be trusted!"

You see what that lady fails to understand is the reason we eat turkeys for Thanksgiving is to keep things right between the way things were then and the way they are now. Indians never ate turkeys until the Pilgrims showed up. Shoot, until then, the pilgrims had never even seen a turkey. So, when they showed up in America and saw all of those dastardly bastages running around screaming and pecking, it scared the crap out of them. Muskets were fired and heads were chopped off - white men will not tolerate chaos from foul. Now, the Indians saw this madness and thought it wise for their people to go along with the pilgrims - show them the way of the peace pipe and get them to calm down a little. The Indians had no problem eating turkeys. After all, if they didn't they might end up just like them.

But a few days ago when I saw the look in that turkey’s eyes while he hid in my bushes, I began to truly understand why the pilgrims opted to cut off their heads. They're wild and look even wilder, and those mean little suckers never blink. I learned a long time ago that you cannot trust any thing or anybody that doesn't blink - it's a sign of psychosis!

Long story short, you cannot feed turkeys, especially wild ones - it goes against nature. And even though humans might be quick to do that, a wild animal never will. Make no mistake about it, once a turkey catches a whiff of an old women's peanut butter breath he would surely maul her right where she stands. I knew that I didn't want to stick around to see anything like that happen. I thought if the old woman did get mauled, I'd probably be held liable somehow – after all, the turkey had been living in my bushes.

Later that evening, I returned home and noticed that all of the corn was gone. There was no sign of the old women or the wild turkey. Perhaps things went terribly wrong - or maybe they went all right - but you had better believe I'll be checking my bushes before turning my back on one of those beasts ever again.

© 2007 Mike Adams Publishing. All Rights Reserved. Previously published in the book ‘Toilet Bowl Soup: Redneck Tales from the Armpit of America’.