Mr. Snood

Mr. Snood


“I can do this.”

“What makes you think you’re truly qualified, Mr. Snood?”

“I’ve worked with turkeys all my life. I know ‘em…inside and out.”

“Well, here at Yucky Farms, we pride ourselves on the best-tasting turkeys in the world, so your expertise would be an asset to our production facility. But this is a big job. We send turkeys all across America. Have you ever managed a plant this size before?”

“No, Mr. Yucky, but I believe my ideas would revolutionize the industry.”

“In what way?”

“Just think about it. You spend a lot of time and money killing turkeys. I promise I could cut those expenditures by more than half.”

“Whoa…Mr. Snood, that’s a big promise. Just how could you possibly do that?”

“Hypnotism.”

“What…?”

“Hypnotism. I will hypnotize every turkey that comes through here. People will be able to go to the store and buy a real live turkey and take ‘er home. You can’t beat freshness like that.”

“Please, Mr. Snood, you’re wasting my time. That’s just plain ridiculous.”

“I thought you might say that. Bring me a turkey and I’ll show you.”

“Please…I really don’t have the time for such foolishness…”

“Bring me a turkey!”

Bzzzt

“Mrs. Trout? Send in the turkey.”

“Oh, that’s a nice fat one. He’ll do just fine.”

“This better be good, Mr. Snood.”

“Watch. I point my finger at his eyes. I move my hand to the left…to the right…up…then down…and then I set my finger on his beak.”

“Yes, yes, I see. He does seem to be calming down a bit.”

“Well, he ain’t fully hypnotized just yet. See that red dangly thing hanging down from the top of his nose?”

“Yes…that’s called a snood.”

“Exactly! It’s what a turkey uses to get a mate, or to show when he’s pissed-off. It turns a bright red.”

“Yes…go on.”

“Well, what I do is stroke that thing with my finger, see—real gentle like. Stroke it…stroke it…stroke it…until it finally changes color, and then…there you go. He’s totally hypnotized. Now you can do whatever you want to him and he won’t budge an inch.”

“Whatever I want?”

“Yep. You can pull all his feathers out, load him in a cage, or throw him up in the air…whatever you want. He’s completely docile.”

“No way.”

“Way…just try it. Pull all his damn feathers out.”

“Okay, I will: Pluck-pluck-pluck. That, is amazing! He never moved. It’s like…it’s like…he was totally hypnotized.”

“Exactly. Now you don’t have to kill ‘em. You can send ‘em straight to the stores completely plucked and alive. Just think how fresh they’d be, and how much money you’d save.”

“Mr. Snood, you’re hired! But there’s just one thing.”

“Oh, what’s that?”

“That red dangly thing hanging from your nose….What the hell is that?”

“That’s my snood. I got to liking rubbing ‘em so much, I had one grafted on.”

“Well, that’s gotta go, or no deal.”

“What...? Forget it then.”

(500 words)