Category: Humor

Fiction · Holidays · Humor · Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving Shenanigans

AinaBalagtas5 Comments
I wonder how many people are flustered during Thanksgiving Day for not cooking a roasted turkey to perfection. I know one; but I am sure there are lots out there. Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Thanksgiving’s here, let’s gather ‘round,
Where chaos and laughter are always found.
The turkey’s roasting, the pies are set,
The kitchen’s a battlefield—full of regret.

Grandma’s making her famous yams,
But no one will touch them (except Uncle Sam).
The stuffing is salty, the gravy’s a lump,
And Grandpa’s asleep before his first chomp.

The kids are screaming, “When can we eat?”
As crumbs from the crackers litter their seat.
The dog steals a roll, the cat takes a leap,
And Mom yells, “This house is a disaster heap!”

When finally, the feast is ready to start,
We bow our heads with warmth in our heart.
“Thank you for family, and all this food…”
(But please, no more yams—we’re just being rude!)

The meal commences, the forks start to clatter,
As politics and football begin the chatter.
Grandma shushes, “Let’s keep it light!”
But Dad’s debating until late in the night.

Then pie is served—it’s pumpkin and pecan,
And cousins fight over the last flan.
Laughter erupts, the evening is saved,
Despite the chaos, we’re all well-behaved.

So here’s to Thanksgiving, that annual feast,
Where love reigns supreme (even if turkeys are deceased).
It’s messy and loud, but let’s not forget,
The best memories are the ones we don’t regret!

Creative · Holidays · Humor · Non-Fiction · Short Story

Turkey Talk: A Thanksgiving Conundrum

AinaBalagtas7 Comments

It was the day before Thanksgiving, and Tom and Giblet, two plump turkeys, sat under the shade of a sprawling oak tree at the edge of the farm. They had overheard the farmer’s plans earlier that morning and were in the middle of an existential crisis.

“I don’t get it, Gib,” Tom said, pacing in circles. “How does a holiday about giving thanks end up with us in the oven? It’s a yearly genocide, and yet they call it gratitude!”

Giblet, reclining on a pile of leaves, shrugged. “Humans are weird like that. They celebrate by stuffing themselves full of food and then blaming the pumpkin pie for their bloated misery. But you know what’s really confusing? They call us the centerpiece of their joy. How is being roasted to a golden crisp joyful for us?”

Tom flapped his wings in exasperation. “Right?! And they say things like, ‘Let’s give thanks for our blessings’ while they’re basting us in butter! I bet no one thanks the turkey.”

“Not true,” Giblet said, smirking. “I heard a guy on TV last year say, ‘This turkey is the most tender I’ve ever had. Thank you, Tom.’ It’s probably the same Tom who was here before you.”

Tom gulped. “Well, that’s comforting. At least I’ll be remembered for my… moistness.”

The two turkeys sat in silence for a moment, listening to the sound of distant traffic and the clanging of pots in the farmhouse kitchen.

“You know,” Giblet mused, “what if humans didn’t eat turkey for Thanksgiving? What would they have instead? Tofu? Fish? Pizza?”

“Pizza?” Tom scoffed. “Imagine the chaos! Aunt Linda’s mad because Uncle Joe ordered anchovies. Cousins arguing over pineapple. No one’s giving thanks, Gib. Just civil war on a plate.”

“Exactly,” Giblet said, leaning in. “We turkeys bring people together. Think about it. Every American family strives to keep this tradition alive because we are on the menu. If it weren’t for us, Thanksgiving might just be another Wednesday.”

Tom frowned, then nodded slowly. “So, what you’re saying is… we’re like the glue that holds Thanksgiving together?”

“Precisely,” Giblet said with a smug grin. “Without us, they’d just be eating boring casseroles and arguing over football. We’re essential, Tom. Legends, even.”

Tom sighed and flopped down beside his friend. “Well, when you put it that way, I guess being roasted for the greater good isn’t the worst fate.”

“Exactly!” Giblet said, puffing up his feathers. “If humanity needs us to keep their families united, who are we to stand in the way?”

As the sun set over the farm, the two turkeys shared a moment of quiet reflection.

“You know, Gib,” Tom said, a small smile tugging at his beak, “I hope whoever eats me tomorrow goes for seconds.”

“Atta boy,” Giblet said, patting him on the wing. “Let’s make humanity thankful, one bite at a time.”

And with that, the turkeys resigned themselves to their fate—not with fear, but with a sense of purpose. After all, they weren’t just birds—they were Thanksgiving heroes.

Humor · Non-Fiction · Poetry · Writing True

Pickle Ball Prep: A Grand Illusion

AinaBalagtasLeave a comment

What could you try for the first time?

I’ve made up my mind—this is the year,
Pickleball mastery is finally near!
I’ll be agile, precise, quick on my feet,
Dodging that wiffleball, light and elite.

First step: I’ll need the right pickleball gear,
(Though, let’s be real—just shorts and a beer).
Google says paddles come in all sorts,
Do I need one for pros? Or just casual sports?

Next up: I’ll study the rules, nice and slow,
“The kitchen?” What kitchen? Do I bring dough?
It’s all sounding strange—but hey, I’ll adapt!
Who knew a sport could leave me so trapped?

I’ll pencil in workouts to build up my game,
(Though Netflix might call me—those workouts feel lame).
I’ll practice my footwork and swinging technique,
In my living room first, at least twice a week.

I can already see it—my dazzling debut!
Crowds will cheer when I score—maybe one or two.
I’ll high-five my teammates and grin ear to ear,
“Natural talent!” They’ll shout—wait, what’s that? A tear?

But truth be told, plans don’t always get done,
And my coordination might make folks run.
Still, even if I flub it and can’t hit the ball,
It’s learning that counts—win, lose, or fall!

So here’s to my humble intentions, half-baked as they seem,
To pickleball dreams and my couch-bound regime.
I may not be ready quite yet for the court,
But soon—probably—just probably—I’ll dominate the sport!

Blogging · Creative · Humor · Poetry

Say

AinaBalagtas5 Comments

Say what you mean,
and mean what you say.
Don’t talk nonsense.
Speak with weight.
Don’t talk in haze,
Speak straight.

You may write an essay,
or a play,
for a broadway,
in a hallway,
or a driveway,
freeway,
highway,
byway,
in whatever ways,
just write and say
your heart out.

Never talk like doomsday;
avoid cliché.
Speak with grace.
Never brag;
No one listens to proud.
Say and be glad
for the voice,
the message,
and the gut.

Featured Song:

Say, Say, Say
By Michael Jackson, Paul McCartney
1983