3 Novemeber 2010
	Turkeys and Ziploc Bags and Springs and Boxing Gloves.
	I would like to present to my female guests on Thanksgiving day a specially cooked turkey and I would fit the inside of the turkey with a powerful galvanized spring and attached to the powerful spring would be an eight ounce boxing glove once owned by Jake LaMotta.  I would invite Tanya and Tavia, they are twins, and while the twins are seated around my ornately decorated holiday table I would hold my turkey (which is lying atop a large silver turkey platter) in front of each of their faces. "It's a Butterball," I'd say and then I'd talk about the history of Thanksgiving and I'd talk about the delightful aroma emanating from the freshly cooked bird and of course I'd tell them about the heart, gizzard and liver patiently waiting for them inside the turkey.  At this point I'd belt out a classic holiday song by Bing Crosby or Frank Sinatra and I'd gracefully dance about the dining room with the bird lying atop the platter and then I'd quickly return to the ornately decorated holiday table where the twins eagerly await me. "You gals like fresh Butterball gizzards?" I'd say, making sure the large open cavity of the bird is directed toward the well dressed, perfumed, seated twins. I'd also say: "Reach inside and help yourself." I'm inside my garage on the island and it's three in the morning and I'm using a piece of plywood and a sledgehammer and I'm mashing my Halloween jack-o'-lanterns (into mush) and then pouring the pumpkin slop into Ziploc bags.  I've got nearly two dozen Ziploc bags filled with pumpkin mush and eventually before the night is over I figure I'll have four or five dozen Ziploc bags filled with pumpkin slop.          Ordinary people throw their unwanted day after Halloween jack-o'-lantern over their backyard fence or they'll drop it out the window of a moving car but not your correspondent.  I puree my jack-o'-lanterns using a board and a sledgehammer and I fill plastic bags with liquid pumpkin and I seal the bags good and tight and I strategically place the bags onto Walmart parking lots.  The heat coming off the asphalt generated by the warm Florida sun causes the bagged pumpkin mush to heat up and when a few bubbles inside the bags turn into a rapid boil the Ziploc bags explode and jack-o'-lantern napalm goes every which way.    But I digress and while I'm digressing there's a knock on my garage door. Normally I would have heard the engine of a car or the slam of a door or even the sound of heels making contact with the cement driveway but not tonight.  Tonight I won't be able to switch off the radio and turn off the garage light (and pretend I'm not home). Says a woman:   "I know you're in there, Norman." When I'm nearly to the garage door the door swings open and the stealthy high heeled woman enters your correspondents garage and with great purpose the woman walks twice around my work table and from the work table the woman examines my large wall mounted dry erase board and when she's taken everything in she says: "What's in the bags?" I say: "Nothin' really." She says: "Normal people throw their pumpkins in the garbage." I say: "I guess." The woman walks to the dry erase board and while she's pointing her manicured finger she says: "What's this ridiculousness?" I say: "That's Tonya and that's Tavia.  They're big breasted full lipped twins and they're at my imaginary Thanksgiving day feast." The woman moves a couple of steps to the right and then says: "Is that supposed to be a turkey?" I say: "Of course it's a turkey." She says: "What's inside it?" I say: "That's a boxing glove and a spring.  When I move one of the turkey legs the boxing glove emerges from the body cavity of the turkey propelled by a powerful galvanized spring and the boxing glove slams into the face of either Tanya or Tavia knocking them unconscious." The woman inhales and then exhales and when all the air is out of her lungs she says: "I'm fuckin' outta here, Norman." She's almost to the door when she says: "Daddy wanted me to invite you to our Thanksgiving day dinner with all the trimmings plus a cheese fondue appetizer but you can forget that now mister."      I say: "Tell your dad I said, hello." As she is closing her car door the heeled Prius driving woman yells: "I'm wasting my time." NOTE:  I had trouble working in the garage after she left because of the trail of perfume she left behind.  Luckily I had a big electric industrial fan my aunt once used to blow out the stink of pussy from a whorehouse she ran in Miami in the seventies. EXTRA:  When she pulled out of the drive something came off her tire (she had backed into the drive) and whatever it was hit the garage door and it caused my garage mounted horseshoe to point down.  Horseshoes are always aimed up to keep the luck from pouring out and now I'm a little spooked.  BONUS:   I've figured out a way to use the turkey drumsticks like crosshairs on a rifle scope which will guarantee the maximum boxing glove to face impact.     EXTRA BONUS: Her father (daddy) called and personally invited me to their Thanksgiving day dinner two days after her late night visit even though she said I was no longer invited.  That made me feel good and the night I got his call/invite it was a kind of validation for me and for the first time in months I slept straight through the night without waking up even once. SPECIAL NOTE: I did get a call from a woman the night that the woman stormed out of my garage and the woman on the phone talked a good long time but I was wasted and I can honestly say that I can't remember anything about the call with regards to topics, content, etc. I only know for sure that I did get a call and it may have even been a call from my mom, my grandmother or the chick that blew me at a company picnic two years ago. PRIVATE MESSAGE WITH REGARDS TO ANOTHER MATTER NOT RELATED TO THIS STORY: I don't know what the hell your big titted little sister is talking about.  I did not tell your yellow haired little sister to wrap her supple legs around the staircase rail and then move her hips up and down.  Additionally, I never told your little sister that, "She was gonna love how good it would feel down there while she moved her hips up and down on the railing."  Your little sister is a fuckin' cock suckin' liar.  While I was waiting for you to come home from your job at the donut factory your sister and I played Battleship on my iPhone and on her iPod.  I wasn't teaching her how to, "Get herself off" and I resent you saying or even implying that.     TIDBIT:  While I was planting the Ziploc bags filled with pumpkin slop in the Walmart parking lot near my home (at three thirty in the morning) I was invited into a black 1975 Dodge van by a white woman smoking a Kent cigarette and wearing black thick framed glasses.  I would have happily fucked her (and there is no doubt she would have sucked me off again and again) but while she was using a specially designed stainless steel carpet rake to beautify the shag carpet in the van I became alarmed when the rake repeatedly got snagged as she pulled it toward her and there was no question in my mind that large amounts of dried cum in the shag carpet was what was causing the rake to get hung up.  Because of the excessive amounts of old semen deposits throughout the rusted Dodge van I instead fingered the Kent smoking woman while she stood (legs spread) against the van (outside and away from the cum).  Her hole was massive maybe the biggest hole I had ever come across. 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