Every year, I get a very uncomfortable feeling deep within my stomach as Thanksgiving approaches here in America. Every year I send out a mass e-mail like this:

HAPPY DEAD TURKEY DAY!!!
            )

(

___

.-'_ =\

c=<___\-_)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Every year my friends write back and tell me how morbid I am. They say, “It’s only bad if you’re the turkey.”

They simply do not understand.

Turkeys are not the only ones who have a problem with this holiday. There are other casualties at this time of year, and I have deep sympathy for those lost lives. You see, in my past life, I was a cranberry.

At this time, I would like to share with the world an excerpt from the diary I kept while I was a cranberry. I hope this will make the people of America think twice before they devour all those luscious foods:

November 20

Dearest diary,

The plague has gotten worse and I fear for my life. All around me, the others of my kind are being plucked from their homes, never returning again. Where are they going? What is happening to them? I wonder incessantly, and yet I do not look forward to finding out. It is possible that they are being taken to some greater place, I know, but it is also possible that they are simply being slaughtered. Oh, the thought of all that innocent juice being shed sends a shiver down my stem. When shall this torturous panic leave me? When shall I know the truth?

Your faithful friend,

Bob Cranberry

Looking back upon my writing, I am still overcome by a chill. Please, if you are a decent human being, do not eat my brethren this Thanksgiving.

Remember–cranberries are people too.