The Final Diary Entries From the Turkey That The President Did Not Pardon


Sunlight is hours away yet I am wide awake. Today is Thanksgiving Eve and my Death Day, and I can not sleep. Within 36 hours I will be on the president’s plate, baked.


The sun rises. It’s as good a time as any to get my affairs in order. I have a nest and three berries to my name, and I will give them all to my wife, Turesa.


I made a final plea to the United States Supreme Court to see if there was anything they could do to save me. No luck, the ruling to kill me was 6-3 with Justice Clarence Thomas writing the majority opinion that I looked too juicy to be kept alive. They should really reform the court. 


Watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade was always a tradition in my family. But this year, it feels a little different. It’s awful, seeing our species completely hollowed out and blown up 100x our normal size, being paraded around by a group of freezing volunteers. I don’t know how I didn’t see the horror of it before. And you know the worst part? The enthusiasm of Al Roker about the whole thing. 


In the 5 years Turesa and I were together, we reproduced three gorgeous poults: Turner, Turell, and Steve. Today I said my final goodbye to them all. It was nice to have a few last gobbles with them, even though they asked who gets my fine China when I die. In my last father-sons talk, I had them cock fight to see who would receive the fine China inheritance. Steve won.


I gobble-bartered with the holding pen attendant to let Turesa have one more conjugal visit with me. Let’s just say I made her squawk. I told her how much I loved her. I also told her to find another mate, one that would be able to give them the birds and the bees talk correctly. I had tried so many times, but always mixed up the ball bag between the legs and the ball bag on the neck.


Just as I begin to feel at peace with my impending death, I think about the turkey that the president is pardoning tomorrow. It isn’t fair. I don’t even know who it is yet, but it isn’t fair. If it’s Marvin and his ball sack-looking ass neck I’m gonna scream.


Or is it me?? Am I the turkey that’s being pardoned??? Is this all a big set up and I’m being Punk’d??? 


I paid off the holding pen attendant to tell me who the pardoned turkey is and it’s Marvin! I can’t believe his saggy nutsack throat is going to be on national television. He knows I’ve always dreamed of Hollywood too. Meanwhile I’ll be plated with stuffing up my ass by the time of his TV debut.


Is Marvin actually better off than me? How special is being pardoned anyway? So what, the President tells him “have a nice life.” It’s ME who’s going to be INSIDE the White House! Sitting with the President!


Scratch that last entry, I think I was in my denial phase.


Father Squawk came by to hear my last confession. I didn’t grow up a religious turkey, but decided to become a born-again turkey once the decision was made to murder me a few hours ago. Father Squawk baptized me in the water trough. In my last confession, I confessed that I once cheated on Turesa with her sister Turbitha. I feel a lot better now, like there’s a weight off my shoulders. After that, me and Father Squawk gobbled about what turkey heaven was like and my impact on the world.


Finally, time for my last meal. If this was going to be my last meal on Earth, I was going to go crazy with it. So I went overboard and asked for a huge platter of grass, leaves, and acorns. Sounds like the perfect Thanksgiving Eve meal to me! 


God, my tum tum hurts. I ate way too fast. I just wish that there was a TV in here so I could watch the game while the women of my nest clean everything up.


Would it be bad to take a little nap during my last hours of life? I would stay awake but I’m really sleepy from the big meal.


Shit! I dosed off. God that was a great nap though. I wonder what time I wi—–

8:30pm (but dead)

I see a light. It’s Turbitha. I didn’t know that she had been sacrificed too. I hold out my talon. She takes it. We ascend into turkey heaven. I hope President Biden likes my body. God knows Turbitha did in my youth.