Taking a Gobbler to the Face

"What are our plans for Thanksgiving"? Madge asked.
Bisket looked a bit taken back since Madge has always spent the holiday with 'the boys' smoking, drinking, and playing cards.
"I was thinking of getting a big ol' bird, making some fixings, and relaxing watching the game."
"What's the catch?" Bisket eyed Madge, knowing that bitch always had a card up her sleeve.

40 minutes later.

"I fucking knew it," Bisket looks up at a barn that's seen better days, with the doors open and hundreds of turkeys derping about in the yard.
She tiptoes through the clots of turkey shit into the migrating flock of gobblers.

Madge finishes shaking 'hand' with the farmer, who looks more like he needs a ship and a parrot than a clucking turkey farm. "Mikey and I go way back, Bisket. He saved my life back in the day." "Looks like everyone that's friends with you loses a piece of themselves," Bisket mumbles. Then, distracted, she turns her attention to a massive butterball pecking at her shoelace.

As they wander through the flock, Madge explains that Mikey lost his hand in the military, and after his honorable discharge, he thought farming would be a nice change. Bisket was surprised to hear that Madge helped get the land the farm was sitting on. Madge lights a cigarette. "Which one do you want for Thanksgiving, kid?" Madge motions at the turkeys.

"Well, this mother clucker will do," Bisket points to the bird untying her shoes again. Madge produces an ax from her Chanel purse and hands it to Bisket. "You've got to be joking, Madge."
"That's up to you, Bisket. Are we going to eat it, or will you feed it?" Madge waves goodbye to Mikey and closes the passenger side door. Bisket turns the car towards home through rural backroads and trees. "You know I was kidding, B? Mikey will have it ready to pick up in a couple weeks." Madge exhaled out the cracked window.
Bisket takes her eyes off the road to change the radio station, "I was wondering what..."
"WATCH IT, BISKET," Madge screams; Bisket slams on the brakes as glass shards fill the front seats. "Well, that's one way to get the job done," Madge surveys the damage to the windshield with a coroner's eye. She brushes a few bits of glass from Bisket's hair.
"I'll call AAA if you call Mikey and tell him we found another bird." Bisket hands Madge her cell phone and her flask of bourbon.

Happy Thanksgiving, kids.