Chapter XCV: Master Baster

I may just be puerile, but it seems like the turkey recipe I found online contains subtle homoerotic undertones. It tells you to hold the legs apart while you butter up the hole...and then to fill it with stuffing. Okay, maybe not so subtle. My poor Victorian sensibilities were scandalized, to be sure.

It also didn't help that the turkey baster made the most ridiculous noise when squirting its juices.

It was like the scene in Return of the Jedi where Princess Leia strangles Jabba the Hutt with the very chain that was meant to prevent her escape. Imagine that Jabba the Hutt had explosive diarrhea as he was dying, and that there was a chihuahua stuck in his butt, gasping for air. That's pretty much what the turkey baster sounded like.

This post is about a month late, but before we left for Thankgiving break, my roommate and I bought a 15.92 pound turkey from Ralph's. There was still about five pounds left when we were cleaning out the fridge before leaving for Christmas. We got the idea when Ralph's was having a promotion whereby turkeys were only four dollars (normally $17) if you spent twenty-five dollars on other shit in the store.

We beat the system though, by buying a box of laundry detergent with the turkey to meet the quota, and then immediately returning the laundry detergent! HAHHAHAHA, take THAT, Ralphie.

I let my roommate do the honors of preparing the turkey, since he's white and has more experience in that regard. My duties were to stand back and snicker uncontrollably while reading the recipe, and to man the turkey baster.

The final product was tasty, but a tad gamey since--contrary to the post title--I am not a master baster.