Armstrong, an unmarked truck just delivered a pallet of mystery meat. Turkey. It doesn't look like turkey. It looks more like some sort of dehydrated pigeon. What's it matter? If we slap it in a sandwich, smother it in "gravy," and label it "turkey," customers won't know the difference. Wait, did you just think quotes around the word gravy? "no."
Open mic night presents Meleogris Gobbler. 'Tis the story of a woeful refugee … whose plight has been forgotten. An admirable, amiable sort is he … but boy is he downtrodden. With courage of the kind you rarely see, he defended his land. When Redcoats invaded over land and sea, he's peck their knees and hands. And how did America repay this debt owed its forest bird? Did you put our noble visage on the national seal as we would have preferred? No. You ate us. Just like the British did. I really think that it's the least you can do to redeem your traitorous heart ... if you grant all my brethren refugee status, before these holidays start. Anyone have any gravy?