Green means go. Red means stop. Yellow means the secret testing facility on the outskirts of town is leaking toxic fumes again. Travel within designated safe zones is permitted when the yellow light by your front door is solid, provided government-issued hazmat suits are worn, but when the light is flashing, load your zombie repellent devices with the shells hidden under your sofa and hunker down. It’s going to be a long night.
Welcome to Night Vale.
Well, listeners, it’s that time of year again; time for the annual roasting of the sacrificial bird. That’s right, it’s Thanksgiving.
Turkeys have, of course, plummeted in popularity after last year’s tragic events. If you recall, the god, Huntokar – in a misguided attempt to show how vital they are to our celebrations – granted turkeys sentience last Thanksgiving. The resulting formation of a Turkey Militia and subsequent stampede through Coyote Corners left many Night Vale families in mourning and a general distaste for turkey in the mouths of those who survived the Thanksgiving Day Massacre.
The turkeys have since been relocated to a small tract of land outside of town, where we can watch their community develop without fear of being trampled and/or pecked to death. Though it currently consists mostly of piles of boulders that the turkeys have managed to push together using their hooves, there’s no doubt that it will soon be a thriving city. We here at Night Vale Community Radio would like to extend a warm (if wary) welcome to our new neighbors in Gobblers Gruff. We’d like to wish you the best of luck in all your endeavors – except, of course, those whose success relies on the eradication of the human race.
Intern Wynita, who replaced Intern Doug after he mysteriously disappeared while investigating a strange sound emanating from a manhole cover in the Barista District yesterday afternoon, has just returned from the annual Thanksgiving Day Dead Citizens Impersonation Contest at the high school with fabulous news. The contest was tied between my niece, Janice, who attended as my dear friend, Old Woman Josie, and Dave Davies who, by all accounts, did a very good impersonation of Hiram McDaniels (literal five-headed dragon’s) violet head. The tie was broken only after an angel named Erika asked to have a word with Dave.
Dave has not been seen since this encounter but I’m sure he’ll show up eventually with a fascinating story to tell. In the meantime, congratulations to this year’s Thanksgiving Day Dead Citizens Impersonation Contest winner, Janice! Old Woman Josie would be proud.
I’d like to take this moment to send condolences to the family of Intern Doug who, we can only assume, died a horribly gruesome death at the hands of whatever flesh-eating beast is currently residing under the streets of the Barista District. Doug will be missed.
Never fear, listeners. After Intern Wynita returned to the station, she was immediately dispatched to the Barista District to continue the investigation surrounding the strange sound emanating from a manhole cover there. More updates on that when she returns!
I must confess that I’m eager to get home to my own Thanksgiving dinner. Carlos refused to have turkey this year on the basis that it would be “somehow wrong” to eat a creature with consciousness. I, for one, was happy to agree – have you tried turkey since they became self-aware? So chewy! Blegh! This year, like many Night Vale citizens, my husband and I decided to try something new for Thanksgiving.
After much research and several visits to Night Vale Zoo so Carlos could perform various scientific experiments on the birds there to test their intelligence levels, we decided that this year, flamingos are the only way to go. Carlos assures me that they are the dumbest birds – possibly the dumbest creatures, in fact – on the planet. They won’t mind being dinner, I’m sure!
If you haven’t picked up your Thanksgiving bird yet, head on down to the sometimes-vacant lot out back of the Ralphs where shift manager, Charlie Bear, has a flamboyance of flamingos, just waiting to be eaten. Charlie will even pluck the flamingo for you, if you’d like, but I don’t recommend it. Without feathers, flamingos lose their cotton candy flavoring when cooked. Speaking of which… I wonder if our flamingo has been forced into its bath of boiling motor oil yet… While I call my husband to check on the status of our bird (and more, importantly, whether he’s wearing the cute “Kiss the Cook” apron I gave him), I take you to the weather.
Have you thought about who you will be giving your thanks to this year, dear listeners? As City Council only provides each citizen with thirteen thanks a year, we must choose wisely. After all, gratitude is a powerful destructive force and, once given, can’t be retracted. Give your thanks cautiously, listeners, and have a very happy Thanksgiving.
Stayed tuned for the sound of many birds screaming in pain as they’re slain and/or cooked alive, the outraged cries of our new neighbors in Gobblers Gruff, and one dedicated but ravenous radio host as he scurries home to his dinner. Join us tomorrow when we celebrate Black Friday by covering our flesh in tar and destroying every lightbulb in the city. Until then, good night, Night Vale. Good night.
Today’s proverb: keep it under your hat but above your hair. Don’t let it in your hair – dear God, don’t let it in your hair!