In the deepest darkest depths of the rugby

In the deepest darkest depths of the rugby changing room I was lacing up my boots in preparation for....

our 4th annual turkey eating contest. The rules were simple. Eat as many turkeys as possible within 10 minutes. What could go wrong? I was a rugby player after all.

When the contest began I realized the tragic mistake I made. Everyone but me was dressed as a butcher and with good reason: all the turkeys we had to eat were alive and well

"The act of dying is one of the acts of life." it gobbled before we gave it the chop. Another quoted Twain "A turkey who lives fully is prepared to die at any time." "Shut yer beak

ye hypocrite," screeched the head rooster. "I was destined tah be the last great entree!" The attending farm animals gasped in surprise. "Thas right! My name is

Coq A. Vin!" And with that, he poured wine all over himself and leapt into the oven. But being a bird-brain, Mr. Vin had forgotten to pre-heat it, so after an hour he slunk out,

deeply marinated and severely embarrassed, decelerating into a Bo Jangles soft shoe, dancing to the freezer, opening the door, and, before shoving his head into the ice bin, crying

out "Mozzarella!" like he was Stanley Kowalski. He stopped short of ripping his shirt off. Seeing it wasn't flying he did an Ashlee Simpson jig & shut the freezer door behind him.

That stopped it cold. He lived with the memory until, like all of us, he eventually said, "I am so fucking sick of people and their fucking problems."