Tuesday, June 19, 2007

All Quiet in the Southwest Quadrant?.....


















(Scientifically validated pet psychic Sonya Fitzpatrick)

Things have been quiet here in Belvidere lately, even in the Southwest Quadrant. There have been no turkey related fatalities reported for almost two weeks, the last being when Malt Callahan was pecked to death while turniping in the forbidden zone on the outskirts of the Southwest Quadrant. Malt did this despite the many warning signs posted about the dangers of entering an area frequently patrolled by Death Brigades. But there's been nary a gobble around these parts for the past 14 days. What has brought about this much needed respite? Perhaps a miracle, a blessing in the name of Duane Frierson.

For far too long the citizens of Belvidere have lived at the mercy of the roving Turkey Death Brigades patrolling the city and spreading fear and death, in particular throughout the infamous Southwest Quadrant. Thus far, attempts at negotiating a truce with these menacing devil birds have been met with obstinance, gobbling, and further bloodshed. Our defense perimeter has held strong but eventually, I fear, the turkeys will discover a weakness to exploit. My greatest concern is that they will at some point realize how easily they could simply fly over the perimeter defenses.

Our attempt at rendering the turkey breeding ground uninhabitable last winter via use of weapons grade avian distemper virus met with disasterous results. Shorty Lewis, who had bravely volunteered to deliver the device deep into the heart of turkey controlled territory, sadly met with a fate unbecoming of such a hero. Our plan was discovered, perhaps leaked by a turkey double or even triple agent in our midst, and now Shorty's desicated corpse serves as a steady reminder that the turkey is one of the most intelligent of God's creatures, and perhaps the deadliest. Belvidere scientists were at a loss for other methods of limiting their potential for a sustained offensive against our town. We were running out of options. But the winds of fate may have just changed their course and, instead of the stench of Shorty Lewis's rotting shell, are now carrying the sweet scent of freedom and lilacs.

After many months of letters and phone calls, Animal Planet finally officially declined to send scientifically validated pet psychic Sonya Fitzpatrick to Belvidere. My hope was that she might assist us in reaching an agreement with the turkeys and an ending the violence. Luckily, Belvidere citizen and master taxidermist Duane Friersons had recently discovered that he possesses psychic abilities and has volunteered to act in Ms. Fitzpatrick's place. This psychic ability, apparantly latent and entirely unexpected, was disovered by Frierson while working in the crawlspace of a neighbor's 1957 Craftsman Bungalow. Here is an excerpt of the letter written to me by Mr. Frierson explaining his newfound powers:























".....I was suddenly struck by an overwhelming sense of completeness and connection with the universe. I was aware man. I put down the bucket of termite poison and allowed the whole of existence to enter my willing vessel. Then I ate the grilled cheese sandwich that my wife had packed for me. When my buddy Stump Purvis, town gutter specialist, found me passed out three hours later I realized that I was psychic."

With that compelling testimonial to the awakening of his hidden paranormal potential, I was convinced. And that means something because, as all of you well know, I am a pretty skeptical person. But to be certain I ran things by Frank Grimes, town Chiropractor and Science Advisor to the Mayor, who felt that Duane's experience was well reasoned and thoroughly grounded in scientific plausibility. He said that Duane's story fit all of the classic signs of psychic emergence, especially the part about the sandwich.

I asked Duane to take the weight of Belvidere's hopes and dreams for a future where humans and turkeys could co-exist without fear of violence on his capable shoulders. He was at first hesitant but consented once he fully grasped the importance of his role as potential savior of our town. The last we saw of Duane was as he slowly but confidently crested the first of several large hills sitting between town and the turkey encampment about a half mile outside of the Southwest Quadrant perimeter defenses. That was two weeks ago and the silence of the turkeys continues.

3 comments:

The Laundress said...

Spooner,

I am now very worried. Two weeks of silence is far too long. Plus you haven't posted for almost another week. That is three weeks of not knowing what those turkeys are up too?

Duane might have been taken captive by the turkeys? Perhaps he is now suffering from Stockholm Syndrome and plans to assist the turkeys in their diabolical plots?

Plus, you never know about the nutria... the enemy is everywhere. (word verification is kuvnva -- Swedish for turnip -- closely related to rutabaga, aka "Swede" aka the Swedish turnip -- see how deep the conspiracy is....aaaaggghhh...

Spooner Jenkins said...

Sorry for the poor posting frequency. I've been battling chronic possum fever (CPF), somethign that the medical "establishment" hasn't accepted yet. But after 3 months of antibiotics, a weekly regimen of alternating colonics and engorgement therapy, and an exhaustive detoxification and nutritional rebuilding plan I'm starting to feel a little better.

Shinga said...

Were those brave men alerted to the dangers and given a caveat gobbler before undertaking their duties in these dangerous areas?