More

I'm currently still thinking about it. Right now. While my tastes are honed and sophisticated they have never been discriminating. I'll eat anything, but when I imagine that brick of fowl flesh landing on a counter with a gelatinous slap it is all I can do to not swear off chicken forever.

How did this blaspheme, this abomination occur in the first place? Did someone swallow a bit stuffing only to look up at his wife and express the thought he'd been harboring in shame for so long: "Y'know, Stuffing is good, honey, but is there a way to make it more meat instead?"

Wives are often made to succor a man's unseemly appetites, and so she shuddered as she stuffed the next turkey with a chicken, silently wishing her husband were cheating on her. It would be a sight easier to look away from that sin. At least she wouldn't be wrist deep in it.

It is her permissive attitude, not his sickness, that is truly to blame. For when another madman crawled forth from their unholy union gastronomy's fate was sealed. The offspring, having been raised in a home where it was all to common to debone two carcasses and stuff on in the other, was well equipped to take it further.

"Mom, how about we add a third bird?"

I weep for her. Truly that moment must have been the end of all joy in her life. Any flicker of hope that she had managed to save her son from his father's abberation would have been snuffed right then.

I like to think she wanted to stop the spread of this dementia, just lacked the strength to do so. I hope she found some peace in the fistful of pills she stuffed her last abomination with.