You’re a turkeyfucker.
That means you fuck turkeys.
Usually you only fuck turkeys around Thanksgiving, when
certain emotionally distraught or disturbed people ask you to fill a turkey
with bodily fluids so they can consume it.
You consider it your duty to follow up with these people a few weeks
later, recommending the name of a discreet and non-judgmental therapist. You explain to them that you support them in
their fucked-turkey-eating, but that you genuinely believe that it could be a
sign that something is missing from their life and you want to make sure they’re
okay, even as you help them consume what most people would appropriate call “tainted
meat.”
Despite this presumptive, if well intentioned, overreach,
you make enough money fucking turkeys and selling them or videos of you fucking
them to actually cover your cost of living for an entire year. That means today, in early June, you’re going
to mostly just have a lazy day around the house where you wake up late, watch
some Youtube clips, and then go to a farmer’s market for some organic produce.
Later on in the day, you’ll fill a request for a Cornish game
hen filled with your semen that one of your clients has requested. It’ll be, as he puts it, “a step on the road
to recovery,” as ostensibly recommended by his therapist. You’ll take him at his word. After all, you’re not one to judge. You fuck dead birds for a living.
Congratulations Turkeyfucker!
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