Planksy

Arrrrrrrrr! That’s yer nine-letter arrr meanin’ Planksy, yer favorite pirate turkey, is back in town with yer holiday greetings and grog as me gobbler mesmerizes ye into a swirl of hornpipe dances and mirthy songs. Is it a beaut of a mirage? Nay, it’s me myself, with 300 fowl strong, sailing up I-35 in me pirate vessel filled with gifts galore, and me mateys, me special pirate’s brew, eggnog rum (that’s with yer soy substitute for yer milk and eggs), strong with me Jolly Roger, barrel upon barrel, not for land lubbers, nay, but for pirate turkeys in person and at heart. So, prithee, me dear Planksy lovers, what does yer pirate turkey have in mind this Christmas? Nothing else but ye annual dranks and planks. If ye done well, buccaneers, ye get me dranks straight from the barrel with hornpipe accompaniment and general merriment lasting to the wee hours. And it’s all on board, if ye get me drift? If yer a lubber of the land variety, me admitted gobbler worshippers, ye get me planks, right off the boat where ye can make friendsies with the toothy fishes.

Dranks. No one deserves me dranks more than Oklahoma school teachers, a lot often maligned by yer powers that be, using me dedicated educators for swarmy political points about this and that, and I know-it-all, put-it-on-a-test for the little pirate turkeys so we can look at a number and twirl it in our fists like a gold medallion and go “this needs more study.” Arr! Few commit to their calling as much as school teachers or work as long hours for little pay, especially here in Oklahoma, and try their hardest for our little rapscallions, and what they get is lubber talk from those that don’t know and less treasure, me mateys, less treasure. Dig deep into me barrels, teachers. I raise me cup for ye and say “here’s to Oklahoma teachers, the true buccaneers on the seas of education. Fly, me sea teachers, fly.”

Planks.Tis nothin’ new, but me first planks go to U.S. Sen. Jim Inhofe, the lubber who claimed he’d personally ended all talk of global warming in the entire world forever and more. But ye listen, me bird lovers. Inhofe is filled with swarmy talk, aye, and so I declare the lubber a story teller, and he always ends it well for the oil companies, don’t he, mateys? Ahoy, listen to the squeals of bilge rats at yer own risk, me mateys.

Dranks. Methinks me dranks galore go to none other than Ed Shadid, the Oklahoma City Councilman, who got discrimination protection for city’s workers who happen to be in the LGBT flock. A toast to ye, sir: “Here’s to Ed Shadid, the sea dog that does hunt, yer doing the job of a buccaneer, and may ye continue yer efforts to make this a better place for all.” Aye, true, there were others who helped make it happen, but Ed pushed it through. Come on board, Ed, and drink my special brew, reserved for swashbucklers like yerself. Let the pipes play, the dancers dance.

Planks. Here’s me planks for two land lubbers, Gov. Mary Fallin and Insurance Commissioner John Doak, who did a little swarmy rule changing to get treasure for the rich insurance companies. Here’s the rub: Birth is no longer what the lubbers call a “qualifying event” for health insurance, which means the lubberish companies don’t have to cover sick babies because, now get this one, me mateys, these baby buccaneers are actually sick and that would cost money. Here’s another rub: Mary’s people say she committed this act of land lubbery to get coverage for more children, but, me sea dogs, it’s about treasure for insurance companies, not an act of kindness for families without sick babies. Arrr! So it’s planks for the both of them, and for our health care system in general. Ahoy, what do I see there, is it land, is it single payer, me mateys, single payer? Aye. I see it clearly through me gold pirate telescope.

Dranks. Arrr! From his beak drips pearls of wisdom, and his gobbler reigns supreme in the western and eastern seas. He’s always in a fowl mood, if ye get me drift, and his crew stands as sturdy as beacons in stormy waters. Here’s some dranks or thirty to myself, a pirate turkey for one and all this Christmas season. Have yerself a Jolly Roger holiday season, me mateys. Don’t spare the cheer. Save some tofurkey for yers truly. Ye never know when this bird will show up. Arrr!

Arrrrr! That’s yer five-letter arr, me mateys, so be it. Shiver me handsome gobbler, ye rapscallions. It’s none other than yer favorite pirate turkey, Plansky, sailing into the scorched Oklahoma prairie with me ship filled with 300 pirate turkeys strong, all a hornpipe dancing as the rum flows. Arr! I’m here to bring me annual Planksgiving thanks and planks to the deserving crew this year. If ye get me thanks, then come aboard, mateys, and dip your cup in me personal rum barrel, gold plated with me signature “P,” a very nice touch if I do say so my pirate turkey self, and I do. But if you get me planks, take a blindfoldy walk on me springy board and take a nice swimmy with the toothy fishies. Arrr!

Thanks: Get yer cups, all ye Occupy OKC mateys and come aboard me ship. This goes for all ye Occupy mateys, who won’t sufferin’ no blarmy from the landlubbers. Ahoy, the lubbers and the bilge rats have taken all the treasure and no suffering fool, aye, will stand for it, get me drift? Aye, the media lubbers make fun of ye mateys when all ye wants are good jobs and a chance to sail, but the joke’s on them, me lads and lasses. So Occupy, O-C-C-U-P-Y, it’s yer mutiny, and it’s about time. Planksy, the none other, stands with ye in solidarity. Arrr! Love, Occupy Planksy.

Planks: Ahoy, what about these scurvy political rapscallions who want to stop taxing the rich in Oklahoma by ending the income tax. All this blarmey about Texas this, Texas that, Texas, Texas, Texas, “she’s a beauty with no income tax” and “why, take a swig of me grog, if Oklahoma doesn’t sail like Texas, aye, no treasure hunters will ever come here.” I call it what it is: blarmey, double blarmey and triple blarmey. Schools? The lubbers don’t care. Health care? The lubbers scoff. Aye, it’s saying one thing but meanin’ another. Who will benefit? The hoity toitys, aye, the aristocracy if ye will, and they won’t if they listen to Planksy. This is no treasure find, me mateys. It’s scurvy encrusted barnacles on a ship of doomy, dark doom. Abandon ship, all ye, if it happens. (But, sorry, the lubbers will say, there was no treasure left for a life boat.)

Thanks: Aye, are ye sitting down, me lads and lasses? Planksy hereby bestows me thanks this year on none other than U.S. Sen. Tom Coburn, and before ye get all puffy, ye Planksy lovers, let me tell you why Tommy gets a cup from me barrel. Arrr! It seems Tommy, and I’ve called him a lubber in the past, told it almost like it is in his little report “Subsidies of the Rich and Famous.” Arrr! Is he an occupier? His point is the rich got it easy as the rest of us search for hidden treasure. Arrr! Here me out. I don’t think Tommy’s gone Jolly Roger, if ye get me drift, but what’s one dance to the hornpipe, aye. Here’s a raise of my cup and a toast: To Tommy, for a day, now clean the ideological barnacles from yer stunty ship, matey.

Planks: Shiver me beaky timbers from the bowels of the sea, me mateys. Where’s me OKC Thunder this year? KD? Buried beneath the sea? For that, it’s planks for the scurvy NBA owners, who want a larger slice of the treasure and lock us all out because, mateys, this is what they do: They own. Ahoy, maybe the owners could gather at the OKC arena soon, aye, and we could watch them own. Arrr! The owners, aye, have sailed too fast, and their anti-union cannon fire is the old tale of what Tommy (see above, me mateys) calls the “rich and famous.” Aye, what’s Mr. Clay Bennett got to say about all this blarmey? Are the glory days over for the Thunder? It’s barnacles, me lads and lasses, nothing but sad barnacles.

Thanks: Arrr! Me thanks go to none other than state Sen. Andrew Rice, who led the good fight for pirate turkeys everywhere, but, aye, now he’s sailing away from us, aye, it’s true. Mr. Rice was an inspiration for Oklahoma progressives, but, aye, the scurvy timing wasn’t right, and it’s the barnacles, isn’t it? So one more dance to the hornpipes, Andrew, one more dance. We’ll miss you, aye, and good luck to you and your family. Planksy and crew enjoyed workin’ with ye. Arrr!

Special Thanks: Aye, this one goes out to someone special. His beautiful gobbler sways in the soft, Oklahoma breeze, and his beak says it all to everyone everywhere. His patch screams fashion sense, and he’s the most glamorous pirate turkey to sail the seas here in Oklahoma, no lubber he, never. Arrr! Special thanks to myself, and don’t mind if I do take a swig or twenty from me rum barrel this year. Eat yer tofurkey with a twinkle in yer fork this year, me mateys, and happy Planksgiving!

Arrr! Ahoy. Shiver me handsome gobbler. It’s yer favorite pirate turkey, Plansky, coming yer way this holiday weekend with me sparklers and sharklers. Aye, me fowl ship has sailed the treachy waters in Grand Lake, infested with the poisonous algae, down the road to Lake Arcadia, a water policed out of fun, onto Lake Thunderbird, where the land lubbers float like so many bilge rats, and then a little stop at Lake Holdercloser, ye get me drift, mateys, wink, wink. Imagine me ship, two hundred pirate turkeys strong, sailin’ with the breezes to bring ye me news, good and bad. Aye, so on with it! Avast, if ye done good, ye get me sparklers, check yer local burn ban, and a cup of me pirate rum from the personal barrel, proof level unknown. If ye done bad, arrr, ye get me sharklers after walkin’ me planks and takin’ a little swim with the toothy fishies. Arrr!

Sharklers: Yers truly, me handsome gobbler swayin’ aft in the breeze, starts with U.S. Sen. Tom Coburn, a pirate wannabe, tryin’ to steal yer Medicare coverage and give the treasure to his richies. Arrr, this man calls hisself a doctor, the land lubber, the bilge rat, the swarmy, crawlin’ water spider. . . ye get me drift now don’t ye? Coburny says seniors need to pay more and often so the scurvy uppity ups, yer croissant crowd, can go on shoppin’ sprees, bless their smelly festoons. Arrr! It’s enough to make a pirate turkey’s blood boil, mateys. Here’s Tom’s thinkin’ on the topic: Yer need to deny medical care to create a new program denyin’ medical care. Ponder that load of wannabee pirate talk, take two aspirins and call me in the mornin’.

Sparklers: Arrr! Me first sparklers of the season go to the late Clara Luper, the Oklahoma City rights icon, who stood up to yer racist bullies in the fifties to make this schoonerville a better schoonerville. Aye, she’s a legend, a real hero. Her courage leaves a certain pirate turkey in awe. Thanks, Clara, for all yer work. Bless ye.

Sharklers: Well, Jim, did ye get the scurvy after the little swim in Grand Lake? Arrr! Sharklers it is to U.S. Sen Jim Inhofe for his continued fight against global warming science. Aye, mateys, I’ve been sailing for many a year, and it’s going on. So poor little Jimmy got some scurvy wurvy in his gullet after a dive in the blue-green algae near his lake house so he says. What’s swarmy about all this is yer climate change has been linked to increased toxic algae. Aye, Jimmy, ain’t it time to drop the bilge rat from yer beak. Come on, lad, drop it. That’s me lad. Good lad thee.

Sparklers: A set of me finest sparklers go to OKC’s Cimarron Alliance Foundation, a gay rights group working for equality. At the helm, none other than Scott J. Hamilton, who can distribute his bounty of sparklers to whoever he likes, and there’s aplenty to go around. Arrr! Aye, LGBT Pride Month this year was great cannon fire, me mateys. Scott, thank ye. Take a scoop from me barrel, and enjoy the rum you so deserve. Equality will be ours someday, lads and lasses. Hold yer beaks high, hold em high, higher, there we go.

Sharklers: Me last sharklers go to a tricky group tied together by the ankle, stepping limp-by-scurvy-limpity-limp on me planks. Aye, let’s name the land lubbers without further adieu: Aye, it’s Brandon Dutcher, a think-tanky guy, Patrick B. McGuigan, of the right-wing journalism cabal variety, and J.E. McReynolds, the scurvy opinion page leader of The Oklahoman. These rapscallions are playing ring-around-the-rosy to cut retirement benefits for state employees, and they’re duping buccaneers fore and aft who should know better. Here’s their trick: These right-wing musketeers get all blarmey and gobbler-twitchy about a few state fat cats getting the big retirement treasure and then spin it like the whole system works that way. Aye, me mateys, listen, the vast passel of retired employees and teachers here have small pensions. The bone’s already been cut. Leave the regular people alone, musketeers. Shut yer blowhole blarmey, and keep a walkin,’ come on now, just a wee bit more. Splash.

Sparklers: Aye, I didn’t want to leave it sour. I hereby grant myself sparklers for bein’ the handsomest pirate turkey in Oklahoma. With my gobbler swayin’ and my beak enticing one and all, I wish ye mateys a wonderful holiday with grog and hornpipes galore. Arrr!