Dear Diary,
If you’re reading this, I’m probably on someone’s dining table — surrounded by mashed potatoes and betrayal.
It started weeks ago. The humans began acting… strange. They hung paper turkeys on the walls (offensive), talked about “brining” like it was a fun hobby (it’s not), and kept eyeing me with this unsettling mix of hunger and affection. Susan even said, “He’d look great golden brown.” Ma’am, I’m already brown.
I tried to play it cool. I even faked a cough to seem diseased — it didn’t work. Farmer Joe just said, “Looks like he’s ready.” Ready for “what,”Joe? A modeling career?
No — the oven.
Yesterday, I overheard the words “350 degrees for three hours.” THREE HOURS! What are you people, villains in a slow-cooking horror movie?
At dawn today, I made a break for it. I flapped past the barn, past the pumpkin patch, and almost made it to freedom — until I saw a “Turkey Trot 5K.” Do you know what it’s like to see hundreds of humans “pretending” to be you while you’re running for your life? Terrifying.
If I don’t make it, tell the others: never trust anyone holding a baster.
Stay strong, stay fluffy and remember — Thanksgiving isn’t a holiday — it’s a trap.
Sincerely,
Tom
(Current status: hiding behind a pile of decorative pinecones)