They say there are no more heroes in the world. But to those blinkered cynics I present: The Turkeynaut.
The Turkeynaut was born from an accident involving an ordinary man, a particle accelerator and some Thanksgiving leftovers. The intense pressures tore the man out of space-time and granted him the power of instantaneous transport anywhere in the continuum between one turkey and another. He swore that he would use his newfound power to fight crime and correct the wrongs of history. Given that turkeys existed as early as the Miocene era, some 23 million years ago, The Turkeynaut has astonishing access to the past. But he is terrified of dinosaurs and has a fondness for central heating, so he sticks to the twentieth century.
There are certain disadvantages to his power, chief among them the fact that he usually ends up at farms and supermarkets (he can transport between living and dead turkeys, providing that the turkey still has its snood or gizzard intact). But there's nothing stopping him from catching a cab or a bus to the scene of the crime. The other disadvantages rest with his ineffectual manner and ill-fitting costume, which usually get him beaten up before he's able to stop or prevent crimes.
I met The Turkeynaut on Christmas Day, 1985, when I was young enough to enjoy superhero stories but old enough to have resigned myself to their nonexistence. I believed that if heroes were to exist, then we would have be the ones to step up and fulfill those roles. Then The Turkeynaut appeared out of a Butterball on the kitchen counter. He went for a brief walk and came back with a bag of chips and a cut over his eye. I asked him to stay for supper.
I'm wanted in the 1700s, kid, he said. And besides, your supper is my ticket out of here. Why don't you have the rest of my chips?
They were dill pickle flavour. And kind of damp.
Thanks Turkeynaut, I said.
Don't thank me, The Turkeynaut said. This job sucks. And he exited via the dark meat.