If you’ve ever driven around in Harvard Square, you’ve probably slammed on the brakes to avoid a turkey. Well, Harvard Crimson, that’s me in a turkey costume, on the hunt to give one of those gobbly motherfuckers a piece of my foot.
There are very few natural turkey predators in Cambridge. Coyotes, foxes, domestic dogs: these would be turkey predators if they existed in Cambridge or if I had not pushed them off of Harvard Stadium. One could argue that kicking the turkeys is purely ecologically, a gentle nudge in service of the food chain. I do it for the thrill and because I can.
I once watched a turkey run around a reflective powerbox for three hours. I mean, you’d have to be a dumbass to watch a turkey running in circles for three hours, and then realize that the turkey was only there for thirty minutes and that you’ve been staring at a powerbox for two and a half hours. Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yeah, powerboxes. You can kick powerboxes, which reminds me: you can kick the turkeys.
Here’s how I do it. I wake up in my room in Adams L405 and put on my Harvard Crimson Patagonia that I got for free. Then I stay in my room and kick the turkey I keep chained to my closet. That pretty much blasts that turkey for the day.
Obviously, kicking one turkey into a bunch of other turkeys is awesome, and worth 50 bonus points. But it’s not about points or winning: it’s about having fun.