The Scout Chronicles: TurDuckEn Time Bitches!

scoutIt’s that time of year again Martha Fockers! Time to turn the lights down, put on your favorite CD (My parents still listen to CD’s, fucking dinosaurs!), pour your favorite beverage, and get deep, oh so deep, in TurDurkEn. In case you’re an idiot I’ll explain what TurDuckEn is:

A chicken, shoved inside of a duck, both of which are then shoved inside of a turkey. Then roast the whole shootin’ match. Or bake it, fry it, broil it, fucking microwave it for all I care. The cooking details are inconsequential to The Scoutmeister. As long as you stick a chicken in a duck in a turkey, I’m all in.

Throw in the sweet potatoes and the Ol’ Scouter is a pig in shit. I hope to be 4 paws up in front of some pigskin by sundown tomorrow. I feel bad the Native Americans had to take it in the 2-hole to get us here, but what can I do about it? My only choice is to honor them by eating until I’m sick and passing out in front of a violent game. It is unfortunate neither the Redskins nor Chiefs are playing, but I think the NA’s will feel honored regardless. You get within a 4 foot radius of Scout tomorrow while he’s eating, and you get the teeth. That goes for my little sister, double. She’s been taking some serious liberties lately where the Scoutmeister’s food is concerned, and frankly it is about time for a reminder chomp.

Put the women and children to bed, and let’s go lookin’ for TurDuckEn. I’m so hungry for it that I wrote this fairly shitty blog. Can’t think with the stench of poultry hanging thick in the air.

 

About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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