Revenge of the Toms

This short story is based on an animation screenplay I’ve registered and written.

Taylor and her fiancé Travis had decided to rent a cabin for November to enjoy a good old fashioned traditional Thanksgiving. Family would be arriving soon and, before they did, she still had time to experience a thing she hadn’t had in years; quiet, peaceful solitude. Taylor decided to go for a brisk autumn walk in the woods. No prying eyes of paparazzi or meddlesome media asking ridiculous questions. On this day, nature will provide the concert. Chipmunks chattered, squirrels squeaked, and birds chirped a tune to welcome a new day.

Everything was as it was when her parents brought her to these same Pennsylvania woods for Thanksgiving as a child. At this moment, she felt like a little girl again. Suddenly a familiar sound of heavy wings whooshing in from behind added another memory from her childhood. Taylor's eyes brightened as her heart soared.

“It’s the owl!” she whispered excitedly to herself.

Could it possibly be the same owl that welcomed her with its flight so many years ago? She turned to see and was instantly horrified. The flying thing was as big as Travis's shoulder pads. Its face reminded her of an old uncle who hated music and never smiled. A floppy, blood red growth, some hideous tumor, hung from its chin.

This was no owl! Taylor Swift was being attacked by a wild turkey!

Paralyzed with terror she found it impossible to scream. She turned to escape. A brood of a dozen or more blocked the path. Before she had time to think, the flying one slammed into her. Whump! Taylor fell to the ground. She looked up to see the flying tom that struck her gawking down.

She reacted, "What the fu..." ever mindful of her branding, "...fudge?"

“Uh, are you okay?” the bird seemed genuinely concerned.

“A talking turkey?”

Its wattle bounced as he nodded, “Duh, dat's how turkey's talk."

Tomasso Tetrazzini, the fearsome leader of the turkeys, stuck his head in.

“Welcome to our world, Pilgrim.”

The fallen stars eyes shifted side-to-side at the circle of turkeys surrounding her.

“Um, you want an autograph?”

Before she could reach for a pen the turkeys put a flour sack over Taylor's head, tethered her with vines, clutched her vest with mighty claws and flew away. As they did Taylor cried out from the sky.

“Oh my god! I lost an eyelash!”

~

Arjun Thakur lived in Patna, capital of the Indian state of Bihar. Using the alias of ‘Kenny’ it was his job to answer angry calls from Americans upset about overcharges or loss of service or some other irksome issue. He’d never actually met an American but, based on the nature of the calls Arjun considered them an unruly, frustrated and foul-mouthed breed.

Calls from November Americans were different. They were peaceful, curious and civil, sometimes funny and often spoke of family. Calls from November Americans were a joyous thing to receive. When the first one rang that day, Arjun answered with a song in his heart.

“Swift Butterball Hotline, my name’s Kenny wishing you a Happy Thanksgiving!”

“Shut up Kenny and listen!” It was Tetrazzini.

The song in Arjun’s heart faded, his eyes rolled. This was no November American.

He'd never once received a ‘Shut up and listen’ on the Swift Butterball Hotline. Arjun sighed and resigned himself to accept whatever grief was about to come his way.

“Yes sir, what is the problem?”

“If the Swifts don't cancel Thanksgiving, they'll never see Taylor again!"

Though he spoke flawless English, Arjun could only manage, “Uhhhh...”

Tetrazzini was ordering others, “Bring her over here!”

Arjun could hear a woman struggle amidst a din of peculiar gobbles.

“My boyfriend will kick your uh, he’s going to beat you up!”

“Shut up Pilgrim! Tell Kenny who you are!"

Arjun felt panic, “Hello? Hello, miss? Are you okay?”

“These turkeys jumped me in the woods and they’re holding me in a…” Feathered wings muffled Taylor’s cries.

Tetrazzini cursed, “Just tell him who you are!”

Taylor’s voice trembled, “Look Kenny, I’m Taylor Swift. Just do what they say.”

Again, she was muzzled. Tetrazzini returned to the line.

“Write this down Kenny and make sure the big man gets it!"

Arjun’s hands hovered over the keyboard, “I’m ready.”

“You'll never hear Taylor Swift sing again unless you open the gates to the gulags, release our sisters and brothers and cancel Thanksgiving! No more roasting! No more deep frying! No more stuffing breadcrumbs up our ass! Do you understand? We’ve had it! We’ll call Kenny in 24 hours for your answer.”

“Uh, you mean me?” Arjun asked.

“Keep it simple Kenny. You know what to do, so do it!” Click.

Arjun relayed the message to Butterball Central which, unbeknownst to him, was a top-secret enforcement branch of the United States Department of Education. The agency took the message in stride, as if it were expected.

~

Taylor had been gone for hours. A concerned Travis went into the woods in search of his beloved betrothed.

“Taylor! Taylor!” he called out. He paused to allow an opossum to pass. The creature looked at Travis and Travis thought, ‘this opossum knows something.’ He shook his head to rid it of the absurd notion. Soon, he came upon a place with evidence of a struggle. There were many feathers, claw tracks and something on the leaf of a fern. Travis recognized it.

“That’s Taylor’s eyelash!”

A voice cried out, “Talk to Kenny!”

Travis looked up. A wild turkey at the far end of the trail repeated itself.

“Talk to Kenny!”

Travis battled against his disbelieving senses.

“Where’s Taylor?”

The bird repeated itself louder and for the last time.

“TALK – TO – KENNY!”

The turkey trotted quickly toward Travis and gained speed. Travis steeled himself for impact. As the bird got closer it spread its wings. Travis eye’s bulged at the enormity of the bird. He braced to make the tackle. As the turkey left the ground, Travis reached to catch it but missed.

“Kenny who?” he cried out, but the turkey was gone.

With eyelash in hand, Travis wondered many things but was sure of only one; Taylor was in trouble and needed help. But who’s going to believe the story of a talking turkey and the cryptically mysterious ‘Kenny?’ Working in his favor was the fact that the previous November proved 77.3 million Americans capable of believing anything. He called the one he trusted most, his brother Jason.

“Jason! It’s Travis! Taylor’s gone!”

After sharing the whole story, Travis sighed with relief.

“Thanks Jason, I knew I can’t count on you to believe me.”

Jason promised to catch the next flight with an available aisle seat. They both agreed, a call to the authorities was required.

~

Hundreds of wild turkeys crammed into the barn at the abandoned farm. They huddled so close, Taylor felt their floppy wattles slap across her hips. The sack flew off her head. She squinted against what light was left. A turkey with a cellphone took her picture. She cursed at the bird!

“If you post that on Facebook, I swear I’ll deep fry your ass!”

Turkeys shared a collective gasp. Taylor Swift had abandoned her brand on camera!

With her vest torn, mascara smeared, and hair tossed like a salad Taylor looked more like a pissed off garage band punk rocker with a missing eyelash than the world's most celebrated pop star fashionista.

“Calm down, you're not deep frying anyone’s ass,” Tetrazzini scowled.

Taylor scowled in return, "Where's my eyelash?"

“You got bigger things to worry about Pilgrim.”

"I'm not a Pilgrim!"

A random turkey shouted out.

“You’re all Pilgrims!”

Taylor landed on the first lie she could think of.

“No! The uh, Pilgrims all died in a, um, a flood!”

Tetrazzini put his face inches from Taylors.

“Your name is Swift. That’s Pilgrim enough for us toots!”

“And I'm not one of those Swifts! What do I know about turkeys!"

Gobbled laughter filled the barn.

“What’s so funny?”

“According to your music you know enough about turkeys to date them."

The birds laughed again. Tetrazzini held up his wings to calm his legion.

“My fellow wild ones! The time has come to attack!"

The crowd waved its wings and began singing the fight song.

“Over the river and through the woods to grandmother’s house we’ll fly...

The barn doors opened. A squadron of six soared into the barn.

“We’ll rip through the walls, tear up the halls and crap on all the pies…

Rows of turkeys trotted in cadence as if in a military parade.

“Families in cars won’t get very far once we slam into the glass

Taylor to quake in fear at the sight of such fowl military might.

“For all those left living, this year’s Thanksgiving will be the very last!”

An anonymous turkey yelled in defiance;

“Stick that in your baster and smoke it!”

“Take her to the fruit cellar,” Tetrazzini commanded.

Taylor felt as if she'd just fallen into a mash pit of turkeys as they hoisted her up and away. Tetrazzini knew it would take more than a threat to convince the Pilgrims he meant business. He gave the order.

"Launch the attack."

~

The giant Kenwood with the familiar cranberry sauce logo rumbled south on Interstate 95 toward New York. A matching machine loaded with a popular brand of pies traveled in the opposite direction. As the two crossed paths a huge, feathered thing swooped within inches of the cranberry truck windshield! The stunned driver spun to the left! A sortie of brave kamikaze toms hurtled towards the pie truck. By the look in the squadron leader’s eyes, the driver knew these turkeys weren't playing chicken! He spun to the right!

Both trucks jackknifed. Cars spun to avoid disaster. As the trucks toppled the rear doors opened. Pies and cakes and cranberry sauce (jellied and whole berry) spewed across America’s most vital artery of commerce.

~

The cabin buzzed with law enforcement activity. Travis shared the evidence of Taylors eyelash with two federal agents.

“She never goes anywhere without it.”

“Are you sure it’s hers?” Agent One asked.

“Of course it’s hers! Look how long it is!”

The door opened. Jason rushed in. Travis was glad to see him.

“Bro! Thank God you’re here! These agents are from...” Travis couldn’t remember.

Jason hazarded a guess, “The Department of Education.”

Agent One clarified, “WOKE History Enforcement Division.”

Before Travis could ask Jason how he knew this thing, Agent Two offered analysis.

“The way we see it, Taylor was abducted by a domestic animal rights terrorist group. They staged the scene with feathers wanting us to think actual turkeys were behind this.” Jason found this hard to accept.

“What about the turkey Travis saw? The one who said, ‘talk to Kenny’ .’”

“Most likely a hallucination brought on by shock.”

Travis protested. “I’m telling you! I saw that turkey and it said, ‘talk to Kenny!’”

Agent One was the agencies finest patronizer.

“Yes Mr. Kelce, we know, the big, bad turkey huffed and puffed and...”

Jason rallied to his brother’s defense.

“I didn’t believe it either until he said he missed the tackle then couldn’t catch it. Only Travis Kelce could do both!!”

The brothers waited, as the agents huddled to discuss.

“We need to make a call,” Agent Two said.

As the agents left to the privacy of another room, Travis turned to Jason.

“How did you know about these guys?”

“Since I retired, I have more time to listen to podcasts."

~

Arjun had forgotten all about the strange call. The pleasant November Americans were back, and he was in the middle of providing helping holiday instructions.

“Before commencing on deep frying a turkey, be sure to have a safety plan. Choose a level paved location at least ten feet from vehicles, trees, structures…”

The door to the home office flew open. Two men in suits and dark glasses entered.

“Are you Kenny?”

They dragged Arjun away. A pair of abandoned ear buds hung over an empty chair.

“Would the garage be okay if I opened the doors?” the pleasant November American caller would never get an answer. Kenny had left the building.

~

Taylor was mortified when she heard about the attack on the trucks.

“You could’ve killed somebody!”

“Nobody was hurt,” Tetrazzini assured her, “but next time, things will be different.”

“You turkeys are crazy!”

“If we’re crazy it’s because you Pilgrims made us this way!”

Taylor saw blood in Tetrazzini’s eyes.

Not sure if she wanted to know the answer, Taylor asked.

“What are you going to do to me?”

"If the Pilgrims play ball, you can go back to singing your heart out, if not..."

Tetrazzini motioned for a line of turkeys to separate. When they did, what they revealed horrified Taylor - it was a tree stump with an ax buried in it.

~

Travis hadn’t felt this useless since dropping a TD against the Bills in a playoff game.

“Damn it! Will you people please do something!”

Jason put an arm around his brother.

“Take it easy bro, if these guys are who I think…”

The door to the cabin flung open. Arjun entered followed by a stout, dapperly dressed man who looked and sounded precisely like the classic film noir actor Sidney Greenstreet.

“Worry not brothers Kelce! Everything is under control!”

“Who are you?” Jason asked.

“I am Sir Basil Butterball, director of the Butterball Project for the Department of Education and this young man is Kenny.”

“That’s Kenny?”

“I’ll explain later. For now, let’s focus on Miss Swift’s situation.” Sir Butterball held up an envelope. “This document proves your fiancé Taylor Swift is truly an heir to the Swift turkey fortune. She doesn’t know it nor will she ever!”

He crumpled the paper and threw it in the fireplace.

“Why’d you do that?” Travis protested.

“Her royalties on turkeys added to those on her music would make her the wealthiest person in America. Quite frankly gentlemen, the country isn’t ready for a woman to assume that role.”

“I don’t care about her money! I love her!” Travis cried.

Those in the room, including Jason, struggled to stifle laughs.

“Don’t look now bro,” Jason joked, “but I think your pants are on fire.”

Sir Butterball continued.

“The terrorists will release her only if Thanksgiving is canceled and so it shall be.”

Jason was astonished. “No one man can cancel Thanksgiving!” Butterball laughed.

“True. But the people can. We’ve advanced a social media campaign declaring Thanksgiving as another example of American history being used to poison the minds of children to advance the WOKE agenda. Once the base gets wind of the notion of white’s depending on a race of blasphemous savages to survive a winter, we're sure their school committee's will take appropriate action.”

Arjun’s cellphone rang. He looked at the caller ID.

“Sir Butterball! It’s him!”

Butterball raised his arms to quiet the room.

“Silence! It’s Tetrazzini, leader of the birds.”

The jolly evil man put the call on speaker.

“Greetings Tetrazzini! Allow me to be first to congratulate you on a job well done! The pie and cranberry truck touch was magnificent!”

“Thanks boss.”

“I can assure you; this will be the last Thanksgiving!”

“Roger that chief. We’ll let the songbird fly.”

Taylor’s voice cried out in the background.

“Wait! I need to ask Travis a question.”

Travis’s heart warmed at the sound of Taylors voice.

“Taylor! Baby, I’ve been so worried about you!”

“I’ve been worried too! Did you find my eyelash?”

~

After Taylors release, Butterball revealed the truth behind the diabolical scheme.

“I was chosen to lead Project Butterball for the Department of Education. As the world’s foremost authority on talking turkey, I led the round up of the wild ones, taught them English, basic military strategy and how to operate a cellphone. We used the WOKE excuse as window dressing to arouse the base to take action! The true motive behind erasing Thanksgiving is to extend the holiday shopping season! That blasted Plymouth Rock has been blocking the path to profits for far too long! Black Friday as the first shopping day! Balderdash! By this time next year Black Friday will be replaced by Black October. The added two months of shopping will result in billions more in sales! Erasing the Mayflower from history books is a small price to pay for such magnificent revenues.”

"How can you do such a thing?" Taylor asked. Butterball laughed.

"Slavery, Jackie Robinson, Wounded Knee, Tuskegee Airmen, Navajo Code Talkers, we do it all the time."

Travis threatened, “What’s to stop us from telling everyone?”

Again, Butterball laughed. “I doubt you’ll do that Mr. Kelce. If we can erase the genocide of Native Americans from history books, we can certainly erase any mention of your somewhat less noteworthy accomplishments.”

“What’s to stop me?” Jason cried, “I was just an offensive lineman!”

“Yes Jason, I understand, but I doubt even you would want this photo of Miss Swift posted on Facebook!”

All it took was one look at the horrid off-brand picture of Taylor wearing a shredded vest and looking like a one eyelashed pissed-off garage band punk rocker with electric hair. They vowed to keep their lips sealed. This leaves only me, cranberry sauce truck driver in traction Mike Standish (ancestor of Myles Standish) to tell the story.