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Musings of a Decorative Ham Man

September 24, 2014 Leave a comment Go to comments
By Chris Vitiello

By Chris Vitiello

Every year, as Thanksgiving approaches, people advise, “You should put out a line of decorative turkeys.” For a time, I nodded politely. Now, I immediately produce the whip. Such advice is not solicited.

In the late 90s, a man called “Bunbritt” opened a factory across the river. From here, he peddled poorly-made decorative turkeys. At Thanksgiving, he would taunt me. I would receive late-night anonymous phone calls, mysterious faxes showing lists of huge sums, and crates of dung disguised as large appliances. Bunbritt became my mortal enemy with his fat, paisley ties and his dress slacks and it became my obsession to vanquish him. I placed a trusted man in charge of final decorative ham quality control and took a leave of absence.

For the next two months I trained in secret. I became well-versed in the arts of mixed, restrained combat and purchased some satiny pants with thick knee guards. I spent nights on roofs, unmoving, overlooking Eastern Lankville and then, very suddenly, plunging down a perilous fire escape. I timed myself at 40 seconds.

That is all it would take. I knew that and I think that eventually Bunbritt knew that. He became fearful. He insisted on leaving at night under armed guard. He bought houses and then sold them. Finally, he was driven mad. The decorative turkey factory closed shortly thereafter.

I resumed my regular activities immediately.

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