“Gobble Gobble Gobble,” WildFuckingTurkey said. “It’s time for The WildFuckingTurkey Show!”
The living room had been taken over by the Sober Realities. Most of them had been sitting quietly in their chairs drinking glasses of water, and when WildFuckingTurkey came in they looked up like some crazed outdoor animal had just gotten loose inside the house.
He took one of the Penguins’ guitars and stood on top of a chair.
“What’s with you guys?” WildFuckingTurkey said. “This is a fucking party. Where’s the music? Where’s the booze? Where’s the fucking fun?”
No one answered him tho. They just sat there hugging their legs so WildFuckingTurkey couldn’t jump down and peck them.
“No,” Lamb’s Youngest Sister said, “Emperor Penguin, you and your band should play instead.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “We’ve played enough tonight.”
“Oh come on, please.”
But Emperor Penguin just took a sip of his scotch and shook his head.
“Alright then, listen fucking up,” WildFuckingTurkey said and started strumming the guitar.
Then he paused.
“Wait a fucking second,” he said. “Why is there a fucking wheelchair over there?”
No one knew. WildFuckingTurkey went across the hall to the nook and rolled the chair over to the living room.
“I like it,” WildFuckingTurkey said. “It’s kinda like a fucking throne.”
Then he sat in it and started wheeling it around a little and then nodded and started strumming the guitar again.
“Alright, now you can fucking listen up,” he said. “It’s the WildFucking TurkeyShow!”
“Aren’t you going to tune it?” one of the Penguins asked him.
“No, I’ll be al-fucking-right,” he said.
Then he pointed at Wolf&Lamb who sat uncomfortably on the couch.
“This one goes out to you my old friend and your new wife. It’s my favorite song, “Marga-fucking-ritaville.”
“Margaritaville” is a song about a Reality in a far off and exciting tropical Reality who’s always in Alcohol Perception, and it causes problems like not doing anything all summer, getting a regrettable tattoo, injuring his foot, and not being able to find the salt for his margarita.
Then WildFuckingTurkey tried to play it, but it sounded nothing like the song. The guitar was too out of tune, and the chords were wrong anyway, and his gobble voice was low and unpowerful, and he couldn’t remember enough of the words.
“But there’s booze in the blender, and soon na-na-na-na, the fu-fu-fu-fu-fuck that helps me hang on,” he sang.
Making it worse, whenever he got stuck he kept going back to the beginning of the song and starting over. Everyone in the living room was having trouble MeTooing it.
“What’s a Maggaveedaful?” I heard The alleged Marijuana MeNotzie Baby ask Lamb’s Younger Sister.
“I think some kind of Alcoholic drink,” she said, “but I’m not sure.”
Even the other Alcohol Realities were having trouble MeTooing it.
“You sure there’s not another song you actually know how to play?” Emperor Penguin said.
“Fuck!” WildFuckingTurkey said. “I know this one, I fucking swear.”
WildFuckingTurkey could tell the audience wanted to carve him up like Thanksgiving dinner tho, so he hadta step down from the wheelchair and give the guitar back in failure.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he said as he went back to kitchen for more Lubricant, while he slapped himself in the head like he was in a drunken fight with himself.
Wolf was looking down at the floor and holding his head with both hands. Lamb was trying to help by rubbing his shoulders, but you knew he needed a MeToo quickly or else.
“This sucks,” Lamb’s Youngest Sister said. “Emperor Penguin, you have to play some music for real now.”
Then she went over and sat in his lap and started stroking his head like he was her stuffed animal penguin.
“Pleeease,” she said.
“Fine,” he finally said and gave the other Penguins a nod, and they began to set up.