Today, I’m going to be witness of a really erotizing american culinary habit. We bought the turkey yesterday, the bastard weighs 15 pounds, 6,8 kilos (a huge baby but it’s still usefull). When you put your hand inside its ass you find that OH! it’s full of little plastic bags with its various innards inside. In the neck (I was expecting it with head), another bag has the heart.
Its skin feels like a pussy interior lips (a little bit cooler, of course). I daydream with my hands poking there inside when the animal was still warm (we bought it semi-frozen), my hands between viscosities and liquids and little softy protuberances.
In a moment of my fantasy the turkey turns into a baby (they are really similar, right?). Assails me the terrible vision of myself inserting in a dead baby blueberries and stuffing by his more and more dilated anus, washing down him with cider and puting all that in the oven at 400 degrees farenheit (that is... 204 celsius).
I wonder if I’m a real sick mind, although the answer, sincerely, doesn’t worry me so much.
Enjoy your meal!!