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One Photo: One Story; The turkey baster (from hell)

My youngest brother David is fourteen years my junior and is the youngest of seven. As we were growing up, he was always around. He was one of us.

Our neighborhood was a playground. We played baseball, kickball, stickball, dodge ball, whiffle ball and of course tackle football in the park at the end of our street. David always played ball with us and our friends.

We had a decade and a half head start on him. Although he was small, he held his own. We abused him every day until he grew stronger and bigger than us.

He was always teased, tricked and suffered the fool to the delight and amusement of his siblings.

Once my middle brothers devised a hideous torture that is legendary in our family. It is so legendary that I revealed it on the radio in New York City and generated hours of phone fun. Every so often a stranger will approach one of us and ask; “Did that really happen”? Yes. Yes it did.

The turkey baster will languish in the kitchen drawer for months. It is seen during the few times a year that the family dinner features a roast. Baster prime time is Thanksgiving when it helps keep the turkey juicy and moist.

The turkey baster can also be used as an effective torture device.

One day my brothers were struggling to hold David down. He was wild with rage. They called me in to help put him into submission. As David wiggled and squirmed, my brother used the turkey baster to suck in his farts. He had wet the turkey baster’s bulbous end so his farts would be wet.

David was turning blue. He held his breath and continued to fight as the baster let out a wet squishy sound as farts were shot up his nose. The smell was hideous.

David was tortured for months with the same one . Months became years until he became too strong and we couldn’t hold him down anymore. We owned him for years.

My mother never knew what her turkey baster was being used for and to be honest we never saw her use the turkey baster that often, until we did.

One year preparing Thanksgiving dinner for our grandparents, mom used the same turkey baster that was recently filled with farts. We didn’t have much turkey that year. Mom couldn’t understand why. We knew and we didn’t tell until many years later.

We recall that in that year our Grandpa said the turkey taste like crap and Grandma had seconds.

Happy Thanksgiving, may your turkey baster be filled with……….joy.

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