Obama Pardons Coddled Thanksgiving Turkey

By Phil Forrence p { margin-bottom: 0.1in; line-height: 120%; }

The tradition of U.S Presidents pardoning the First Turkey every Thanksgiving is an amusing institution with uncertain, if not mythical roots. Many believe it began in 1924 when Calvin Coolidge, tired of eating his wife’s famous Turkey Butt dish, officially allowed the game to go free. Since that year, the president always allows one lucky bird to abstain from the annual genocide of its kind.

However, never has there been a more undeserving fowl to receive this treatment than 2015’s Darius J Turkey III. Darius is a trust fund poult who was raised free-range in the South of France on a farm owned by the lovechild of Marilyn Monroe and Denny’s CEO John C. Miller. Since his hatching, he has been waited on wing and talon.
Yeah I got the dodge, but I think I speak for turkeys everywhere when I say that I deserved it.” Turkey explains between lines of coke, “We live in a society where only the strong survive, and if that means I am a free bird when others get the axe, so be it.” When pressed to clarify his statement, J-Turks threw up all over the many microphones.
The application process to be the pardoned turkey is one fraught with corruption. It considers recommendations, resumes, and the votes from last season’s American Idol Top 8. Many recent winners have been accused of winning due to having influential turkey parents while others were said to have gotten the edge after rave reviews from Keith Urban and Jennifer Lopez.
Darius J Turkey III is just one of many examples of how a flawed system can make a mockery of a once proud tradition.

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Purgatory: Worse Than Hell?

By Steven Jaindl

(Editor’s Note: The Pittiful News sent an investigative journalist to purgatory to detail his experiences. The following article is excerpted from a prolix poem he wrote, delivered to The Pittiful News offices by Virgil)
I find myself walking toward an edifice;
What this building is or what it does contain
I do not know as it was steeped in a mist.
I use not heroic couplets or quatrains,
For this is purgatory and I must use
Terza rima, with compositional pains.
As I walk a man trails me like a caboose;
Nearly together we approach a glass door,
Which I open easily for it was loose.
Turning my head I wish I could ignore
That my compatriot is quite far behind,
Although not so far as to not hold the door.
Thinking to myself, “To him I shall be kind!”
I hold the door for him as he keeps walking;
He comes no closer, and I am in a bind.
I ponder, “Shall I persist in my holding
Of this door for this man until I am numb?
Or should I continue my walk, committing sin?”
This dilemma persists ad infinitum
As I hold this door ‘til I am beyond sick
In this timeless, frictionless continuum.
My advice: to stragglers be a complete dick,
And do not hold any doors in their midst;
And if you plan to die, don’t be Catholic. 

An Erotic Holiday Tale

By: C. Knif

I climbed onto Santa’s lap and told him exactly what I wanted. It was ten days before Christmas, and I know it’s just a guy in a costume, but I needed my fix. I whispered into the jolly man’s ear while I caressed his inner thigh, “All I want for Christmas is your candy cane in my stocking.” The drunken Macy’s Santa just looked into my eyes and loudly said, “I’ll be sure that pony is under your tree.” And then he fell into my breasts and I felt his fake beard get stuck on my bra.  I then brushed his hair with my hand lightly as the elfish helpers suggested I head home while Santa took a break. Little did they know that this quick interaction with faux Saint Nick would satiate my sexual needs until the big day. I of course masturbated with a miniature nativity set for six hours every day until Christmas Eve. 
I woke up on the 24th of December and boy was I ready. In just 18 hours, my big jolly Daddy would be inside me, shooting off his milk and cookies inside me. Just the thought of it makes me as wet as the Christmas ham. I spend all day getting ready by hanging ornaments from my labia and draping garland ‘round my bosoms. Midnight strikes, and the rest of my family is asleep and in bed, but I begin tiptoeing down to the Christmas tree where I unwrap all my presents for Santa and lay waiting. Around two in the morning, I hear a sensual “Ho, ho where is my favorite mistle hoooooo” coming down the chimney. 

He brought me up the chimney with him and set me into his sleigh. “It’s too dark, Jolly Saint Nick, I can’t see my favorite Christmas tree good enough to give it a good suckling,” I said as Mr. Claus just looked my naked body up and down, licked his lips, and said,” Rudolph! Can you help a brotha’ out?” Rudolph walked over and lit up his bright red nose so that Santa would have plenty of view of all my fixings. Rudolph sat down and started jerking his Reindeer dick off with his hooves. Santa laid me down gently on the seat of his sleigh and undid the button on his red velvet pants, and he wasn’t wearing any underwear. We began making love the whole way to the North Pole.