The Great Turkey Pilgrimage of Maharaja Rich
On Christmas morn in Ogmore fair,
The Maharaja rose from his royal chair,
But doom befell the festive plan.
The oven died with a wheezing fan.
No turkey roasting, no gravy steam,
Just seven souls and a fading dream.
Yet Rich, undaunted, stroked his chin:
“Fear not, my friends, this feast begins.”
Two chariots revved in the winter light,
A convoy born of culinary plight.
Seventy‑five miles through wind and frost,
With sprouts and stuffing carefully tossed.
To Nano Maharaja’s distant hall,
Where pots were mighty and ovens tall,
They bore the bird like sacred gold,
A Christmas quest in legends told.
The turkey sizzled, browned, and sang,
The kitchen filled with festive clang.
They carved and feasted, laughed and cheered,
For victory tasted richly seared.
Then back they rode through winter’s veil,
A cooked‑bird odyssey, holy tale,
Seven heroes, one turkey blessed,
Returning home to finish the rest.
And every Christmas from that day,
The bards of Ogmore rise to say:
“No feast too far, no oven too dead,
For Maharaja Rich will forge ahead.”
Based on true events of Christmas Dinner 2025.
This is a tale so festive it made my feathers molt.” — Pink Flamingo, Esq.
ReplyDeleteAh, yes. The Great Turkey Pilgrimage.
A saga of such magnitude that even I, the Nonsense Chronicler Pink Flamingo, had to pause mid–leg‑stretch to take it in. And let me tell you: I have seen some things. I once witnessed a walrus attempt to parallel park a canoe. I once reviewed a poem written by a confused baguette. But this? This is mythic poultry‑logistics at its finest.
The poem begins with a broken oven — a classic inciting incident in all great epics.
Odysseus had the Cyclops.
Beowulf had Grendel.
Maharaja Rich had… a wheezing fan.
The Flamingo approves.
Every hero needs a nemesis, and nothing is more villainous than an appliance that chooses Christmas morning to perish.
🚗 THE PILGRIMAGE ITSELF
Two chariots.
Seventy‑five miles.
Seven souls.
One turkey.
This is not a journey.
This is a procession.
A feathered crusade.
A culinary odyssey so bold that even the Flamingo’s left leg trembled (the right leg was busy balancing).
🔥 THE COOKING AT NANO’S HALL
The turkey “sizzled, browned, and sang.”
I, too, have been known to sing when lightly browned, but that is another story.
The Flamingo particularly admires the transformation of Nano’s kitchen into a sanctified temple of heat and hope. The ovens are described as “tall,” which is the highest compliment one can give an oven.
THE RETURN JOURNEY
A cooked‑bird odyssey!
This is the moment the Flamingo shed a single tear (which immediately evaporated because Flamingo tears are 87% salt and 13% theatricality).
🎺 THE FINAL BARDIC PROCLAMATION
“No feast too far, no oven too dead,
For Maharaja Rich will forge ahead.”
The Flamingo approves of this motto.
It should be printed on banners.
It should be shouted from cliffs.
It should be whispered to malfunctioning kitchen appliances as a warning.
🦩 FINAL VERDICT
5/5 Flamingos
A triumph of nonsense, logistics, and poultry‑based heroism.
A tale that will echo through Ogmore’s dunes for generations, or at least until the next appliance breaks.
🦩 🦩 🦩 🦩🦩