On the first day of turkey my roast pan gave to me a perfectly roasted bird.
On the second day of turkey my roast pan gave to me assorted vegetables and still almost all of that bird.
On the third day of turkey our friend Greg gave to me a bunch of reasons why he could not join us, that was the word.
On the fourth day of turkey we ran out of the bread we'd used to make sandwiches -- absurd!
On the fifth day of turkey Bob's dog got diarrhea instead of a well formed turd.
On the sixth day of turkey the meat was getting scarce, and the plan was getting blurred.
On the seventh day of turkey I made stock of the bones, and the meat that was not interred.
On the eighth day of turkey I made stock into soup, we had some with pork ribs and pierogies, and Bob fully concurred.
On the ninth day of turkey we finished that pot of soup, and had chicken from another bird.
On the tenth day of turkey we ate the remaining stock as into it more stuff I stirred.
