With all this fowlness in the air

     Okay, so I’m thinking if he looks like a turkey, and moves herkey-jerky like a turkey, and gobbles like a turkey, he’s not a duck! 

     Regrettably, however, because mixed feather-beds can be confusing when it’s time to get some sleep, the talkative new leader of all the other turkeys has managed to exercise his powerful gobbling to attract some duck followers as well. 

     With all this fowlness in the air, it’s surprising to hear the turkey leader hasn’t been able to find adequate appointees to the upper echelon of turkeys . . . strong active turkeys who get the pecking orders straight. 

     No, instead, the new turkey boss has thusfar selected a scrawny gaggle whose get-things-done qualifications flutter aimlessly around their experiences of having already spent themselves trying to appease the whims of their past leaders.

     This collection of left-limping turkeys he plans to surround his nest with, is, I suppose,  better, in a way, certainly, than the unscrupulous and anti-flying creature contingent of past associations, but not much better. 

     The top turkey’s choices are also hardly satisfying, or instilling of confidence to those who feed them.  Though, alas, the turkey chieftain resolutely declares his choices to be “fresh faces.” 

     This means that all the turkeys in the land –and that bunch of misdirected ducks– will accept the appointee collection on (fresh) face value.  [And turkeys, you may want to remember, are not among those creatures God has blessed with great-looking faces!]    

     Perchance the turkey boss has forgotten these worn out fresh faces were spent years ago accomplishing nothing in the footsteps of their then do-nothing turkey leaders?  Who exactly are we talking about here? what past leaders? you may ask. 

     Oh, please, surely you know.  Remember the one who was preoccupied with the varied uses of Cuban cigars that were –like other similar products– tried but never inhaled?  And still he hangs around like arm-candy under his turkey-wife’s wing.

     Or, then there was the homely peanut farmer who turkeys, ducks (even pigeons) wish would just go back to quietly tending (shelling and salting?).  Surely those products of his would be more appeasing to elephants on the cusp of a stampede than his meddling insistence on beating the bushes to stir up the natives. 

     [Maybe none of the other turkeys have told the ex-turkey boss, or the new one, that elephants can’t “reach across the aisle” when the turkeys on the other side are all swinging machetes?]   halalpiar

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