901

Inexplicable Halloween horror stories that are guaranteed to terrify those people with a short attention span.

1. The grinning face stared at me from the darkness beyond my bedroom window. I live on the 14th floor.

2. I began tucking him into bed and he said to me, "Daddy would you check for monsters under my bed?"
I looked underneath for his amusement and saw him, another* him, under the bed, staring back at me quivering and whispering: "Daddy there is somebody on my bed."

3. Sleep did not come to me easily that night in the cabin in the woods, for the portraits on the wall only portrayed the deformed, the horrific and the damned.
Sleep has not come easily to me ever again, for when I had awoken I found no portraits, only windows.

4. There was a picture in my phone of me sleeping. I live alone.

5. They delivered the mannequins in bubble wrap. From the main room I began to hear popping...

6. The longer I wore it the more it grew on me. She had such pretty skin.

7. My wife just will not stop crying and screaming in the middle of the night. I visit her grave and ask her to stop, but it doesn't help.

8. Catherine never wore her safety goggles. Now she doesn't need to

9. The last thing he saw was his alarm clock flashing 12:07 before she pushed her long rotting nails down through his chest, her other hand muffling his screams.
He sat bolt upright, relieved that it was only a dream, but as he saw his alarm clock read 12:06, he heard his closet door begin to creak open.

10. My sister says that mommy killed her. Mommy says that I do not have a sister.

11. When I finally grabbed her in the darkness, I swam back to the surface. But it never occurred to me just how fast the ice would freeze over.

12. Don't be scared of the monsters, just look for them. Look to your left, to your right, under your bed, behind your dresser and in your closet but don't ever look up, she hates being seen.

13. The doctors told the amputee that he might experience a phantom limb from time to time. Nobody prepared him for the moments though, when he felt cold fingers brush across his phantom hand.

14. You hear your mom calling you down into the kitchen. As you are heading down the stairs you hear a whisper from the closet saying "Don't go down there honey, I heard it too."

Rational explanations for those horror stories above.

1. Celine Dion's stalking me. It isn't funny. The other night she was so desperate to see me naked through my bedroom window that she abseiled from the 15th floor of the apartment above me.

2. Never put your children to bed when you are drunk. Last night I tucked my 4-year-old boy Tom into bed.
He asked me to check underneath for monsters, where I saw his twin brother Jerry saying Tom was on his bed. In my tipsy state I'd quite forgotten Jerry always sleeps on the top bunk.

3. On Halloween night I'd put up spooky blinds in our holiday cabin. In the morning, my wife Sherry had taken them all down.

4. Drats! Guess what Celine Dion's done now? She broke into my bedroom while I slept and got her hands on my phone. The hussy!

5. My delivery of 10 self-inflating blow up dolls arrived today. I heard the darn things inflating before I'd even got them out of the bubble wrap!

6. Sherry suggested I try her moisturizing cream. I'm getting used to it and hope to soon have a complexion like hers.

7. She won't stop screaming at nights. I visit her in the cellar with a grave look on my face and huff: "Do you mind; I'm trying to sleep!" But it doesn't help.

8. Catherine's given up her welder's job. She's now a secretary.

9. I knew I shouldn't have had that curry. Heartburn, diarrhoea, horrific nightmares (not to mention the broken closet-hinge and alarm clock malfunction).

10. Mom told my sister Peg that if she got home late from the party she'd disown her. Sis got home at 1.00am and mom said, "Peg, you are now dead to me. You, Terence, don't have a sister.

11. Surfacing from the erotic dream, he reached for Sherry but she quickly went into frigid mode.

12. Celine Dion has become a monster; she's so desperate with desire for me! Every night when I retire, I do a thorough check of the room, but I daren't open the window and look up because I fear she'll be there, abseiling from that rope...

13. The doctor told the amputee he had a phantom limb. Moments later he felt cold fingers brush his hand. That's 'cause it was his leg that'd been amputated.

14. Mary heard her mother calling: "Can someone come and do the washing up!" On her way down she heard her dad whisper from the closet: "Don't go down there honey, I heard it too."

902

DEATH IN LEAMINGTON
By Sir John Betjeman

She died in the upstairs bedroom
By the light of the ev'ning star
That shone through the plate glass window
From over Leamington Spa

Beside her the lonely crochet
Lay patiently and unstirred,
But the fingers that would have work'd it
Were dead as the spoken word.

And Nurse came in with the tea-things
Breast high 'mid the stands and chairs-
But Nurse was alone with her own little soul,
And the things were alone with theirs.

She bolted the big round window,
She let the blinds unroll,
She set a match to the mantle,
She covered the fire with coal.

And "Tea!" she said in a tiny voice
"Wake up! It's nearly five"
Oh! Chintzy, chintzy cheeriness,
Half dead and half alive.

Do you know that the stucco is peeling?
Do you know that the heart will stop?
From those yellow Italianate arches
Do you hear the plaster drop?

Nurse looked at the silent bedstead,
At the gray, decaying face,
As the calm of a Leamington ev'ning
Drifted into the place.

She moved the table of bottles
Away from the bed to the wall;
And tiptoeing gently over the stairs
Turned down the gas in the hall.

REUNITED
(The old house in Leamington)

That night in a Leamington bedroom
As the gaslight glowed dim in the hall,
Elizabeth Huntington died all alone,
And the clock ceased to tick on the wall...

***
A century later, one morning,
At the start of a light August dawn,
A young baby girl took her very first breath,
And little Beth Cotton was born.

Her childhood was studded with joy and
Her nature was passive and sweet,
At twenty she married the love of her life,
Her happiness then was complete.

Then, one day they found it - a lovely old spot
To live in as husband and wife,
A lone, little house up in Leamington Spa,
Where they'd have an idyllic life.

She knew this the moment she saw it,
'Twas an incontrovertible fact,
When that little, forgotten voice in her heart
Softly uttered, "At last, I've come back."

Then came the children, two girls, two boys,
Zoe, Tess, David, then Ralph,
And as they grew up, she sensed that her joy
Was a present to her from the house.

On her fiftieth they had a party,
With children, grandchildren and spouse,
And she sighed, "How did I get to be this blessed?"
'It is karma, sweet Beth,' breathed the house.

903

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904

Under the Parisian Sky

An English version of "Sous le ciel de Paris" as sung by Edith Piaf

Beneath the Parisian sky
A song flutters away,
It was born today
In a young man's heart
Beneath the Parisian sky
Lovers walk about,
Their happiness built
Upon a tune made just for them

Beneath the Pont de Bercy
There's a seated philosopher
Two musicians and a few onlookers
And then people in the thousands
Beneath the Parisian sky
Will sing into the evening
The hymn of the people in love
With their old city

Near Notre Dame
Perhaps trouble's brewing
But in "Paname" everything gets worked out
A few rays
From the summer sky
The accordion
Of a sailor
Hope is blossoming
In the Parisian sky

Beneath the Parisian sky
A joyous river flows
That lulls the tramps
And beggars to sleep
Beneath the Parisian sky
God's birds
Come from around the world
To chat among themselves

The Parisian sky
Has its own secret
For twenty centuries it has been in love
With our Île Saint-Louis
When she smiles at him
He puts on his blue suit
When it rains over Paris
It's because he's sad
When he is jealous
Of her millions of lovers
He unleashes upon us
His roaring thunder
But the Parisian sky
Is not cruel for long
So that he may be forgiven
He offers a rainbow

The Skies Over Paris
An elegy
by Jason Lofts

The skies up above Paris are unusually bluey grey
Paris and the Parisians mourn
Paris and the Parisians weep
Up on the Eiffel Tower, the usual lights are out

Here in Paris, on Friday the thirteenth of November,
Twenty Fifteen, near ten p.m.,
the US band "Eagles of Death Metal"
was on stage at the Bataclan
(a popular entertainment venue in Paris's populous eleventh arrondissement)
when three Arab jihadi guys in black enter
to begin their merciless businesslike attack.
'Allahu Akbar!' the heinous ISIS* terrorists shouted
as they began impassively shooting into the audience in the Bataclan,
emptying their smoking kalashnikovs, before reloading them.
'Finish them!' Blood flowed in rivers
as these wicked barbarians kept up their stubborn sniping.

See hurt survivors flee.

SOS - yes, send out an SOS
The news shook the world
Oh, how we weep with Paris and the Parisians
Such sorrow over so much bloody slaughter
Oh, so many innocent people slain
Oh, why - oh, why - oh, why?
Thus say "no, non, nein" to ISIS

"Nous sommes Paris"

P.S. Only two days later, French fighter planes took off to bomb the ISIS enemy stronghold in Syria.

* A Wahhabi/Salafi jihadist militant group.
The French use the term "Daesh".

905

[Edgar Guest's sentimental poem "Thanksgiving" (1917) is anagrammed into a more modern and pessimistic take. Each verse in the anagram is also an acrostic of the first word in the verse.]

THANKSGIVING
By Edgar Albert Guest

Gettin' together to smile an' rejoice,
An' eatin' an' laughin' with folks of your choice;
An' kissin' the girls an' declarin' that they
Are growin' more beautiful day after day;
Chattin' an' braggin' a bit with the men,
Buildin' the old family circle again;
Livin' the wholesome an' old-fashioned cheer,
Just for awhile at the end of the year.

Greetings fly fast as we crowd through the door
And under the old roof we gather once more
Just as we did when the youngsters were small;
Mother's a little bit grayer, that's all.
Father's a little bit older, but still
Ready to romp an' to laugh with a will.
Here we are back at the table again
Tellin' our stories as women an' men.

Bowed are our heads for a moment in prayer;
Oh, but we're grateful an' glad to be there.
Home from the east land an' home from the west,
Home with the folks that are dearest an' best.
Out of the sham of the cities afar
We've come for a time to be just what we are.
Here we can talk of ourselves an' be frank,
Forgettin' position an' station an' rank.

Give me the end of the year an' its fun
When most of the plannin' an' toilin' is done;
Bring all the wanderers home to the nest,
Let me sit down with the ones I love best,
Hear the old voices still ringin' with song,
See the old faces unblemished by wrong,
See the old table with all of its chairs
An' I'll put soul in my Thanksgivin' prayers.

NO THANKS!
By a cynic that's beaten

Families all gather on Thanksgiving Day,
All with a feeling of utter dismay.
Mom is afraid that the food is all raw;
I'm in a fight with a jerkwad-in-law.
Little brats bawlin' an' coughin' on me --
Insufferable brethren I'd rather not see.
Everyone's eager to get to the meal,
Sooner to end the entire ordeal.

Stuffing our bellies with sweet candied yams,
Turkey, potatoes, an' cranberry jam;
Up to our eyeballs in chocolate an' pies,
Fearing it all will go straight to our thighs.
Fatter than ever, we swallow with haste;
I feel that my belt's half the girth of my waist.
No matter how much we refuse one more treat,
Grandma will think that we need more to eat!

Thankful for each of the things we hold dear?
Highballs of whiskey an' bottles of beer,
Antidepressants an' other such pills,
Needing Viagra to have a few thrills?
Kidney stones, allergens, tiresome job,
False teeth that came out eating corn on the cob?
Under a cloud of a terrible shame,
Life without valuable meaning or aim?

Tomorrow, Black Friday, is worse altogether!
Out in the lines in November's harsh weather,
Merchandise-hunting we don't even need --
Outrageous tradition of wholehearted greed.
Ruthless, we race to the latest hot toy,
Resentment an' hate beatin' friendship an' joy.
Oh, how I beg for this madness to end --
When it's all through, I'll be needing to mend!

906

The Raven
By Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore-
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;-vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow-sorrow for the lost Lenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me-filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"-here I opened wide the door;-
Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"-
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
'Tis the wind and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning-little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered-not a feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never-nevermore'."

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee-by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite-respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!-prophet still, if bird or devil!-
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
On this home by Horror haunted-tell me truly, I implore-
Is there-is there balm in Gilead?-tell me-tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!-prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us-by that God we both adore-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting-
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!-quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted-nevermore!

The Horse

Once upon a lunchtime happy,
As I dined on toast with Pappy--
Not to mention olives, ravioli, frequent bourbon shots and more--
As we slurped our hot shrimp soup,
A thundering reached us from the stoop
Like a throng of headstrong giants stomping, stomping on the floor.
"'Tis but the cat," said Pappy. "Neener-Neener's at the door."
His mental gears had problems--they were slipping ever more.

I remember 'twas in late July,
With funny clouds in the northern sky,
And every one looked like a guy with whom I hoped to score.
Longingly I yearned for night
With burning thoughts and fervent might,
That such a fellow I might sight upon the dance hall floor,
Who'd lavish me with love galore--
Some winning, grinning, spinning nitwit whore.

Again we heard the thrilling crashing,
Banging, slamming, booming, bashing
Like the flashing sledge of Thor.
But Pappy kept on eating
(Hard to interrupt his feeding--
Pappy never saw a platter he'd ignore);
"It's the cat," the old man mumbled. "It's our little cat, Lenore.
Methinks our Neener-Neener wants to enter and explore."

In a blink I lammed my seat,
Traversed the room on hurried feet,
With fingers crossed that I might meet my soulmate at the door.
"Who's that? Who's there?" called brightly I,
"--A winking knight? A hot young guy?
Come in, my friend--do not be shy! Let's view your face, senor!"
But when I peered around the door,
My hungry eyes met hayfields--nothing more.

Thence into the front yard staring,
Hoping that the clothes I'm wearing
Aren't too overblown or daring, but what a guy'd adore--
The velvet blouse of shimmering green,
The cummerbund of tangerine,
The frilled brassiere of aubergine with printed hearts galore;
The vest of crepe, the stylish cape,
The emerald glasses fixed with tape, the rhinestone rings--all four--
And pebbled leather heels, stiletto,
Colored tempting amaretto--
My friend Miranda shrieked falsetto when I got them from the online store--
And, best of all--resplendent thrill--
The needle to my outfit's kill--
The stitches stitched with greatest skill--my natty flannel drawers.
But all I see are shrubs, a bore,
And romping lambs, which I abhor.

My eyes got hot, my vision blurred;
I flipped the rotten yard the bird;
I yearned to have my prayers be heard, not seemingly ignored.
Then fretting, moaning, frowning, bitchin',
I stumbled back to the sunny kitchen,
Longing for to scratch my itchin'--bitterly I swore:
"It was that one-eyed Brett, I'll bet,
Who claimed to have a channelled 'Vette,
But all he had was mounds of debt and eyeballs in a drawer.
Or maybe it was Silent Sam,
Who often called me miss or ma'am,
Until I mocked his mom's roast Spam, and then he spoke no more.
Or possibly 'twas Finn DeVille,
Who had a lot of hunting skill,
Which he unfortunately employed in a misguided attempt to kill former vice-president,
one-time presidential frontrunner, self-styled inventor of the Internet, and
tall, brainy, benevolent, perfervid, very squirrelly environmental demonstrator Albert Arnold Gore.
But Finn's still serving nineteen years--
That's one year each for every spear
He hurled at Al and the French premiere at a meet-and-greet in Baltimore.
My memory stars these fools of yore
Yet they're returning nevermore."

Pappy, meantime, at his dinner,
Wasn't getting any thinner.
He nabbed a bivalve--"Found a winner!"--and ate it, shouting, "Score!"
Then he snatched a trembling squid
And grinned, "I'd love to help you, kid,"
And roared as down his throat it slid, as he'd roared so oft before.
Then on to nibbling gourmet roe,
Down the hatch with some tart merlot,
And then a deep-fried smelt in dough, and buttered squab, and more.
Nine onion melts had gone before,
But the batty codger wanted nine more.

I muttered, "Is this but a vivid dream,
A rotten evil REM-sleep scheme,
A loony mental movie meme, not thought of heretofore?
The truth is that I need a hunk
To squire me and share my bunk,
Not some crummy common punk who tromps upon the floor,
Then vanishes from sight before --"
And then a crash rang out once more.

My heart in mouth, I torqued the knob
And thrust it straight into the slob,
Praying 'twas the suntanned Bob, who hung out at the shore.
But then I saw a horse instead,
With rolling eyes and gallant head,
A prancing, snorting horse, well-bred, and noble to the core.
My pulse ran fast with rush and roar,
Strong tide upon my heart's far shore.

The creature's hide, as smooth and svelte
As the antelope's on the sunny veldt,
Compelled my tender heart to melt (not literally--no gore);
The velvet nose, the leather halter,
The way he rocked me like Gibraltar...
I was the offering, he the altar--not a notion I'd ignore.
I yearned to be more trim, vivacious,
Stunning, tough, yet dainty, gracious.
I yearned for lips more full, salacious. I'd yearned for them before.
Oh, the dollars I'd have given
To hear his tale, his way of livin',
To what great lengths his life was driven, the vistas he'd explored.
Was this the mount of a lean vaquero,
Lost in a game of tavern faro?
Was he friends with Clarence Darrow? I pondered this, and more.
Or was he chummy with the devil,
Hellish spawn of ghastly revel,
Thrown by Lucifer up a level to visit my front door?
"In what fine things," I bravely babbled,
"Have you set your hooves to dabble?
Do you play word games--Boggle? Scrabble? I don't, any more--
The vowels tend to hurt my score,
And consonants? That V's a chore."

Pappy, in his aqua shorts,
Sang, "Come into my home, old sport!"
And gulped a half-gnawn saffron torte from Anton's Tart and Waffle Store.
With a haughty look of pride,
The horse clip-clopped and stepped inside,
And I felt like I nearly died, I felt such strong rapport.
The vibrant stallion struck a pose,
With upraised hoof and quivering nose,
As if he smelled a fragrant rose, rather than oven-grilled fillet of albacore.
He seemed all but immovable,
A statue unimprovable,
So unutterably Louvre-able, my inner birdies soared.
He shook his mane and hemmed a bit,
As solemn as a pig in shit,
Then lay his lovely bit upon the floor.
Hot tremors through my bloodstream tore
As he spoke these words--just these, no more:

"Neener-Neener wants his cream,"
He shrilly screamed,
"And I've been sent to see the cream is poured.
His lordship's nine lives give me ten times the chores--
Now go and pour some cream for him, Lenore!"

907

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Homeless

While I was tired from hourly work,
Duties the boss says I should never shirk,
With questioning thoughts I awoke,
To hostility that seems to lurk.

Forgive me if I have one smoke
And think about downtrodden folk.
With sensitivity I sob or weep
For all my neighbors who are broke.

Bootless or barefoot with nowhere to sleep,
Powerless to make a peep,
Those who need only a few good zees,
When we toss in bed and count sheep.

In hellish states of pained unease,
People stay powerless 'neath the trees.
On Thanksgiving Day, feed them please.
On Thanksgiving Day, feed them please.

908

Thank You For Inviting Us*

Thank you for inviting us
To your Thanksgiving dinner.
A day spent in your company
Is invariably a winner.

Thank you for the time you spent
Preparing all the food;
For making us feel welcome,
You have our gratitude!

Thank You For Inviting Us

Thank you for inviting us
To an enormous get-together.
Unbelievingly all came
In spite of this weather!

Frankly, to appear ordinary,
I'd avoid having your turkey.
Offhand, in my opinion, your
Pungent sauce was murky!