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Fall haseth arrived, and as with every year it comes with a cornucopia (or “horn of plenty” which I find a much too sensual moniker) of fresh, vibrant and apparently controversial ideas.

For example, my wife says the neighbor is going to be upset by the gigantic inflatable turkey dinner I’m putting in our front yard once Halloween is over. There’s this unfortunate gap between Halloween decorations and Christmas, er, Holiday decorations in my neighborhood. Housewives go balls-out for Halloween with the lights and the inflatables and the skeletons and even the animatronics. Then, tragically, it’s all disassembled and re-stored in the dreariest of months when we need it most: November. Then we’re left with super ugly stoops filled with whiskey-swigging grandparents hollering at kids and threatening the mailman. Er, mailperson.

That’s right, I’m going to spice up November by blowing up a 12-foot high, properly cooked and thus Salmonella-free, stuffed and dressed turkey. No inflatable turduckin’ here, no thank you – we’re traditionalists when it comes to Thanksgiving.

Yes, depressing November, I cast thee away! My 100% non-recyllable single-use plastic inflatable will inspire artists to come up with songs about November that don’t make me want to develop a Quaalude habit. Think about all those stupid, redundant November songs…”November Rain” by Guns ‘n Roses (I was in the band, I played the seldom used windchimes, but I still got a heroin addiction), “When November Has Come” by Gorillaz, “November is My Month to Rock” by Bob Dylan, and Jimi Hendrix’s famous vocal-free re-do of our beloved Star Spangled Banner, “Trippin’ on Thanksgivin’ Fixin’s.” Well, you don’t have to bear this noise any longer!

My inflatable turkey dinner set up will inspire rap-metal fusion artists from Limp Bizkit to Kid Rock to create brand new hot tracks including “Hold My Hand and Tell Me About Your Day and How You Feel I’ll Just Sit Here and Listen,” and “No Stuffing Dear, I Too Am Concerned About My Elevated Blood Pressure” while enlightening the neighborhood and bringing hope and possibly cash to my doorstep.

Oh, and hope for the neighborhood/mankind/etc. too.

You should buy one and do this with me. It fills the empty 1395 square-feet of your front lawn quite nicely, prevents your neighbors from seeing you in your underwear, and provides the perfect segue for Christmas, er, Holiday décor. The pump that keeps it inflated with carbon monoxide runs on diesel, so it’s very affordable, and fits easily in your driveway or parking space as long as you don’t need to walk in that area or have two cars. Or a tree nearby or anything.

To be honest, even though it’s a great idea, it’s a tough sell if you have a spouse, as I’m finding out. Especially one with a general concern for the environment or how you’re perceived as citizens. My suggestion is to do what, in one way or another, all the artists we admire do when faced with haters, naysayers or doubters; say you won’t do it so you avoid the unpleasant conversation, then just do it anyway.

Don’t overthink it, just do it. You’ll thank me later. I’ll send you a picture of mine when it’s up next weekend. If you look at it every day as inspiration it’ll help you cross the threshold from banal neighbor what’s-there-name, to Linda the Early Adopter. Or Frank. Or whatever your name is.

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Engaging irreverence, occasional coherence, often pointed, mixed with enough indelicate humor as to create a want, a craving for more.