Butterball et al

So I'm driving peacefully down the Interstate, listening to the radio, lamenting at the state of the music industry, wanting dreadfully to find Chester Bennington so I can sit him down, look him straight in all four eyes, and say 'No! You Dreadful boy! This is NOT MUSIC!'--when an advert comes on.
Now, I'm sure we all loathe these little abrasive interpolations between ourselves and our music, but this one seemed to catch my interest. It was the Butterball Poultry company, and it began with an obtrusive: 'Attention, all potential Butterball employees!'
Next, it informed me that Butterball was expanding its boning department, and that I really should be a part of it.
Yes.
They are in desperate need of turkey boners.
This is a fact that they repeated several times, pausing, of course, to include the fact that Butterball is an equal opportunities employer. Yes, even if you are a four eyed freak with little to no musical ability (like Chester dear), you, too, could have an industrious career as a turkey boner.
I'm sure this message comes to you in your very hour of need.
Who doesn't want to work for the boning department?
(Disclaimer: The following testimonial is fictional. All similarities to characters living or dead is purely coincidental)
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Jim-Bob Leroy, Jr. reports:
'I've been boning turkeys all my life, and I never IMAGINED I could git paid fer it!'
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Well, there you have it, folks! Come down to your local Butterball recruiting agency today and...uh...bring lube.
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In other news, I'm still painting. I'm working on a wretched gesture piece, based on a fabulous painting by Mehmet Turgut. You should find him. He's brilliant, if a little psychotic. But what else could you have come to expect from little old me?
I also unpacked Taidgh. No, not the crazy Irish poet on my link list. My guitar. Yes. He's in need of a polishing, but all my spare bits of cotton cloth are besmirched with clots of pigment and safflower or linseed oils. Yes, even the pair of jeans I'm wearing. I'll have to steal a tea towel from the kitchen.
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(No turkeys were boned during the creation of this post)