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Description
Thanksgiving has never quite sat right with me, I think it's a pretty bizarre holiday. For one thing there's a lot of debate over whether or not the famous Thanksgiving dinner between the pilgrims and the indians ever took place (even if it did we all know what ultimately became of those indians, so all that stuff about harmony and the setting aside of cultural differences rings hallow anyway) and it's one thing for someone to hunt and eat a wild turkey when the crop fails, they don't know their way around the strange new plant life, and their 17th century pioneer family is starving, but when someone's strolling down the aisles of a 21st century super market and they'd rather lend their wallet to industrialized mass murder since because muh tradition than buy some nuts or a multi-vitamin or something... ja, nein.

Es tut mir Leid, but anyone who does that is legally obligated to report immediately to the Anti-Cognitive Dissonance Office to swap their righteous indignation badge for a hypocrisy pin. I often think to myself how sad and somewhat amusing it is that Western man has spent the better part of a century wringing his hands over the actions of a dead Austrian and his long defunct political party, glaring at the television screen during war movies and documentaries like it's the two minutes of hate whilst tucking into the honey-glazed corpses, stuffed intestines, and baby-cow body parts on his plate without a moment of pause or a shred of self-reflection.

The human mind is a Gordian clusterfuck of inconsistencies.

What makes it especially sad is that turkeys, far from the dopey bird in the old wives tale who drowns in the rain because he won't close his mouth, are actually surprisingly complex, intelligent animals. They're social, playful, curious, they have a very distinct appearance, "I'm a little surprised Disney hasn't made a movie about them" I thought. That got my gears turning, and before I knew it I had a wily old turkey OC with a French accent. Why French? Because from what I've read the French were the first Europeans to come across turkeys in North America, which would explain why earlier Americans often referred to them by the French term for a male turkey "dindon," which sounds a lot more elegant when they say it because American English ruins everything. :')

I think old Dindon here was raised by a 17th century French explorer, he's sort of the Caesar (Kimba the White Lion Caesar, not Roman politician/general Caesar) of the forest, having made it his life's mission to free animals from man's traps and spiriting away captive animals destined for slaughter into the wilderness, possibly gobbling "Liberté, égalité, fraternité!" to the treetops as he does so while all the historians writhe on the floor clutching their ears in pain.

Description
Thanksgiving has never quite sat right with me, I think it's a pretty bizarre holiday. For one thing there's a lot of debate over whether or not the famous Thanksgiving dinner between the pilgrims and the indians ever took place (even if it did we all know what ultimately became of those indians, so all that stuff about harmony and the setting aside of cultural differences rings hallow anyway) and it's one thing for someone to hunt and eat a wild turkey when the crop fails, they don't know their way around the strange new plant life, and their 17th century pioneer family is starving, but when someone's strolling down the aisles of a 21st century super market and they'd rather lend their wallet to industrialized mass murder since because muh tradition than buy some nuts or a multi-vitamin or something... ja, nein.

Es tut mir Leid, but anyone who does that is legally obligated to report immediately to the Anti-Cognitive Dissonance Office to swap their righteous indignation badge for a hypocrisy pin. I often think to myself how sad and somewhat amusing it is that Western man has spent the better part of a century wringing his hands over the actions of a dead Austrian and his long defunct political party, glaring at the television screen during war movies and documentaries like it's the two minutes of hate whilst tucking into the honey-glazed corpses, stuffed intestines, and baby-cow body parts on his plate without a moment of pause or a shred of self-reflection.

The human mind is a Gordian clusterfuck of inconsistencies.

What makes it especially sad is that turkeys, far from the dopey bird in the old wives tale who drowns in the rain because he won't close his mouth, are actually surprisingly complex, intelligent animals. They're social, playful, curious, they have a very distinct appearance, "I'm a little surprised Disney hasn't made a movie about them" I thought. That got my gears turning, and before I knew it I had a wily old turkey OC with a French accent. Why French? Because from what I've read the French were the first Europeans to come across turkeys in North America, which would explain why earlier Americans often referred to them by the French term for a male turkey "dindon," which sounds a lot more elegant when they say it because American English ruins everything. :')

I think old Dindon here was raised by a 17th century French explorer, he's sort of the Caesar (Kimba the White Lion Caesar, not Roman politician/general Caesar) of the forest, having made it his life's mission to free animals from man's traps and spiriting away captive animals destined for slaughter into the wilderness, possibly gobbling "Liberté, égalité, fraternité!" to the treetops as he does so while all the historians writhe on the floor clutching their ears in pain.