You know as well as I do that it’s got nothing to do with the turkey. Its ALL about the gravy. I hope you are all happy and satisfied now that you’ve had two days to digest your meats and starches. My friend, Corn Mo, texted me with “I’m thankful for good times with friends and meats. Love Mo.” That pretty much sums up the holiday. That and gravy. Don’t forget the gravy. I prefer giblet gravy. You see, it’s not enough that I poor gravy on my meats. I want the gravy itself to contain its own reserve supply of meat parts.
Today’s illustration was inspired by a conversation I had with Josh, Eli and a few other friends at an OMGWTFBBQ restaurant a few weeks ago. It started with the revelation that Josh has h4x0red the normal gravy supply regimen at Popeye’s Chicken. Where as they would normally give him one gravy and one dipping sauce with his chicken fingers, he has perfected a script that allows him, through trickery, to forsake the dipping sauce for an additional serving of gravy. I think puppy-dog eyes and whimpering are involved.
We postulated that he should just ask for a jumbo drink cup (think 32oz or more) then demand it be filled with their finest gravies. A kingly proclamation to be sure. Then the conversation devolved into lunacy when I concocted a rediculous scenario where the Gulf Coast was decimated not by a female hurricane but instead by some sort of fanciful gravy tsunami. The only solution being to fly Josh in by emergency ROFLCOPTER with an ample supply of biscuits to “sop up” the devastation.
I think we ended it on the (very real) possibility that Josh could be convinced to do gravy shots. He emailed me the proof the next day.
“Love that gravy from Popeye’s!”