Black Turkey Fridays

Holiday for Neurotics


Some say it starts at Thanksgiving

the same ones who mutter under their breath

as the mailman walks away, “I pity the next sorry

bastard asks how my TURKEY day was!”

 And how they cringe when you report…..

“Hey….this was my big year I managed to completely

defrost the MSG pigeon and not cook the giblets

in the paper packet inside the gutted body cavity.”


And the best part are all the relatives and in-laws

in the living room the kitchen, the bathroom, the telephone.

The measured, inquisitional, hyper calm voice of your mother

in-law on the line. You know the one who used to look  at you like

you are a were cross between Judas and little Charlie Manson.

She has been extremely patient with you.  Was sure you would

 screw  it up sooner or later. But so far ?

The Goddamn jury is still out.


The Uncles who after you ask for some advice can hardly

contain the merriment sparkling in their eyes saying,

“you mean to tell me, it’s taken you this long to realize

that you’ve been barking up the wrong tree for so long,

why it’s a wonder you can even still talk with all the

dead leaves stuck down your throat.”

 Ah yes…..

That old holiday neurotic

and it’s only the beginning.

The day after “Turkey Day”

is, of course, “Shopping Day”

on  Black Friday


The popular culture starts winding up the elastic

band of consumption, twisting tighter, smaller knots

of blind wild product orgy.


There may be a need for safe sex.

But safe shopping?




Then PBS will start it’s a “Wonderful Life” loop.

George Baily in tears on the bridge in the snow.

Just before Clarence Oddbody and George Bailey

being booted out of Nick’s as the bartender snarls,

“Listen this is a bar for men who want to drink hard

liqueur to get drunk fast and we don’t need any characters

coming in here given the joint ATMOSPHERE. Now do I make

myself clear or do I need to slip you a knuckle sandwich

for a convincer!!”


And for once you’re not left in tears on the couch torn by the

realization you wished the angel just might blow

it. George would either drown or the whole town wouldn’t

show up in a spontaneous gesture of good will to pay

off his debts. And then off old George would be hauled to the

Can on Christmas eve as Donna Reed and the kids all sob.


It wouldn’t be a wonderful life but dammit to hell it

would be a real one.


And, of course, there’s the Christmas music.

Hitting the deck in the halls

Of Krap-Mart.

 As the PA system blares



(Sung to the tune of O Christmas Tree)


Why were the corporations pulverizing those

carols to death? The songs had long since lost any

meaning.  Now they were the obligatory soundtrack to the

mandatory consumption. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t even music

anymore. You could not escape. You could not win.

The more reverent the sediments the more absurd your

surroundings became. Away in a manger in the

small appliance department. Standing in a line that snakes

back all the way back past stationary through woman’s

underwear to the little town of Bethlehem.


The endless march of faces.

Everybody looking like their own banal Commercial induced

product choice.

They looked like programs teetering on cancellation.

The droves.

It was the Battan Death March of December.

The vacant eyes. The jaws slowly working the gum.

Here come the eager.

Here come the weary.

There go the satiated.


 Shopping Mall zombies

 stumbling numbly across the tile while,

“Grand Ma, got run over by a Reindeer”  as done by Soul Asylum, blast out

overhead from the invisible P.A.’s


And your present this year?

Why it’s the realization you’re just another one of them.

No different. Worse really. You feel like this.

Shit! At least they’re happy…er…content…ah…well

adjusted to this convoluted contrived artificial cathedral


So shaddup and face Mecca.

(Currently located between Target & Best Buy)


Confused ? Use  your dumb-ass GPS on your Me-Phone to be directed to J.C. Petty and Sneers (sic) entrance to the temple…er I mean Mall…..

Trust me here…’s on your way….

 Of course….you could just skip the hole ordeal

and just get lost…


Ducking into a bar.

You sigh. ……Order up.

 And your shoulders slump.


 What the hell is the matter with me anyway ?


I feel like this all year round.


You know this just the start of

The Christmas time grind.

And in a blue funk you start a conversation with a stranger.

You both commiserate.

Yeah……… it’s so commercial.

Yeah………. it’s a big pain in the ass.

Yeah…………… ain’t like it used to be.

So you tell your stories of the Christmas past.

And your new friend tells his.

Then you both get real quiet.

Sit there elbow to elbow.

But not asshole to asshole.

Two tired souls not making it up


Soon it’s time to go.

And as you shake hands and catch that something in each

others eye, while wishing season greetings, walk away

feeling a little better thinking,


“Christ, at least I ain’t as

bad off as that  old twisted crazy bitter bastard.”


So listen dumb-ass

You can get just your maetus on straight now

This year for Christmas

Shop early with your attitude and just lose that.

You know this season.

How good it can be.

Besides  you only get so many of them

Here on earth.


So get lost with cyber-Scrooge Vibe

Will ya ?


From Another Rubber Eden    Dec. 92-93/Nov 2011


Black Friday

When Black Friday comes

the Consumers of Gridville

huddle in the parking lots

in predawn frozen blackness

waiting for the sensor doors

to activate and swing open

so that the ensuing stampede

into the widget warehouse

can gush cheap trinket

torrents of electronic desire

to purge themselves

of what limited imaginations

they have left and have not

squandered and impaled

upon product acquisition

suggestions programmed

to them by fiber optic

daily behavioral vampires

so well appointed

with glistening fangs

of fashion compulsion

obsessive consumption

in a I-Pad-I-Phone I- Me Me Me Me vortex

instantly alerting them

of the nowhere

they lust


Is here

In stock

On Sale

And they simply cannot

live without it.


From The Terrible Now



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