baslog

No leftovers for Jeff

Thanksgiving ligt al een tijdje achter de rug, maar we hebben nog steeds flink wat overschotjes in de ijskast. Kalkoen is natuurlijk wel een beetje iffy na een paar dagen, maar zolang er nog geen bedekkend slijmlaagje te bespeuren valt is
het wat mij betreft OK. Het is hier algemeen geweten dat Thanksgiving leftovers beter smaken dan tijdens het feestmaal zelf. Allicht omdat je niet verplicht bent die in het gezelschap van je familie te verorberen. De cultus van de leftovers gaat zelfs zover dat mensen er gedichtjes over schrijven en over email doorsturen. Zo stuurde Jeff (Heathers vader) me dit gedichtje door dat hij op zijn beurt van een kennis had gekregen:

'TWAS THE NIGHT OF THANKSGIVING, BUT I JUST COULDN'T SLEEP.
I TRIED COUNTING BACKWARDS, I TRIED COUNTING SHEEP.
THE LEFTOVERS BECKONED - THE DARK MEAT AND WHITE
BUT I FOUGHT THE TEMPTATION WITH ALL OF MY MIGHT

TOSSING AND TURNING WITH ANTICIPATION
THE THOUGHT OF A SNACK BECAME INFATUATION.
SO, I RACED TO THE KITCHEN, FLUNG OPEN THE DOOR
AND GAZED AT THE FRIDGE, FULL OF GOODIES GALORE.

I GOBBLED UP TURKEY AND BUTTERED POTATOES,
PICKLES AND CARROTS, BEANS AND TOMATOES.
I FELT MYSELF SWELLING SO PLUMP AND SO ROUND,
'TIL ALL OF A SUDDEN, I ROSE OFF THE GROUND.

I CRASHED THROUGH THE CEILING, FLOATING INTO THE SKY
WITH A MOUTHFUL OF PUDDING AND A HANDFUL OF PIE.
BUT, I MANAGED TO YELL AS I SOARED PAST THE TREES....
HAPPY EATING TO ALL. PASS THE CRANBERRIES, PLEASE.

MAY YOUR STUFFING BE TASTY, MAY YOUR TURKEY BE PLUMP.
MAY YOUR POTATOES 'N GRAVY HAVE NARY A LUMP.
MAY YOUR YAMS BE DELICIOUS, MAY YOUR PIES TAKE THE PRIZE.
MAY YOUR THANKSGIVING DINNER STAY OFF OF YOUR THIGHS.

HAVE A WONDERFUL THANKSGIVING!
 Love to all!!!

Maar, never to be outdone, Jeff kon het daar niet bij laten. Zelf moest
hij de volgende dag een scan van zijn ingewanden doen maken, met zo'n
cameraatje dat via de mond wordt binnengebracht, en kon hij dus -o ramp-
een morgen niet eten. Dus schreef en verstuurde hij het volgende antwoord:

 
It was really quite lovely
Hearing from you,
But my post-feasting plans
Have got me Quite blue
 
I'm having a Cat Scan
 of the stomach that day,
So have your big feast,
Jeff's NPO, as they say.
 
In fact the one thing
I must actually partake,
Is two huge containers
Of viscous milk shake.
 
Not sweet and delicious,
But chalky and sour,
So think of me kindly,
As you drink and devour
 
That leftover turkey,
that stuffing and corn,
those whpiping cream cookies,
from evening till morn.
 
 8:30  on Friday,
I slug my first glug,
then half of a bottle
at nine I must chug.
 
I start on the other
At nine and a half,
And finish at 10,
And, oh, don't you laugh.
 
They call it a smoothie,
Wild berry I think,
But it's not something most folks
would offer to drink.
 
Then into the cat scan,
Likekty split,
(that is, of course Karen,
If I actually fit).
 
And I'll listen to Enya,
Whilst they click a few pix,
Of my innards to check if
there's something to fix.
 
So while you engorge,
drink wine and make merry,
remember your dear friend
Is in something scary.
 
And if they find nothing,
then nothing is lost,
'cept a day of indulgence,
but that's all it cost.
 
And if in my belly,
they find a new beast,
Then I'll just have to wait
Till next year for my feast.
 
For I'm certain it's nothing
to worry about,
Just the wages of sin,
and a life as a lout.
 
So I'll end with a wish,
to you and to yours,
Have a happy Thanksgiving,
While my gut gets explored.
 

Posted by vana0047 at November 29, 2004 01:55 PM