I’m a vegetarian—except on Thanksgiving. Call it hypocrisy, but this annual gustatory weakness is not my fault. If God had wanted me to be a strict vegetarian he would not have made turkey so delicious. And the big guy upstairs must really have it in for turkeys because he also made them stupid. Delicious and stupid. Now, I may be rationalizing, but I see nothing wrong with eating an animal with an I.Q. lower than my own. This odd epicurean belief is the reason why I avoid all gatherings of Mensa. Around them I get the unsettling feeling that I’m being graded, and fall somewhere between Choice and Prime.