[3 Min Read]
An older woman pulled her long-anticipated roast from the oven. The scent of well-seasoned meats and vegetables flooded the kitchen as she placed the fruit of her hard labor on the kitchen counter.
“God, that smells amazing, Mom.” A younger man looked over the scrumptious looking bird.
“Of course it does, son. Your Grandma’s turducken recipe is legendary.” Her face slowly shifted from that of pride to mild contempt.
Her son arches an eyebrow. “You ok, Mom?”
She glanced at her son, “I don’t know. Maybe the recipe is too good.”
He chuckled confusedly, “What are you talking about?”
“Maybe I’m just being ridiculous, but sometimes I feel like I’m flying a little too close to the sun with this turducken. The human body can’t handle true perfection.”
The son rolled his eyes and withdrew a fork and knife from the utensil drawer. “You’re right, you are being ridiculous.” He approached the bird and licked his salivating lips. Serrated knife in hand, he carved off a small piece and held it proudly on his fork.
“Looks good enough to eat!” He bit off a chunk and was taken away with its mouth-watering goodness. Suddenly, his face turned from pure bliss to that of intense pain. He looked to his mother with pursed lips and strained eyes. The veins around his temples throbbed madly as he clutched his purpling throat.
“Mom-” he choked, “This… is to… die for.” He managed just before his cranium imploded with the force of a thousand fireworks, and his headless body fell limply to the kitchen floor.
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