Garrison Keillor: ...brought to you by Bebopareebop Rhubarb Pie.


It started out to be a wonderful Thanksgiving for you -- your novel is about to come out and your editor has sent you the very first review --


Sue Scott (TO HERSELF): Wow. This is incredible. The New York Times loves it.


Tim Russell: Go Tell It On The Prairie is the work of genius that American fiction has been waiting for, a dense tangled metaphysical novel that takes you bodily in the first sentence and transports you into a world you could never have imagined, leaving you (FADING) shaken and changed forever by the experience.


SS: Wow. "A dense tangled metaphysical novel that takes you bodily in the first sentence--.." -- and I thought it was so crappy. Guess I was wrong.


GK: And the next morning is Thanksgiving and get the turkey out and you thaw it with a blow dryer (HAIR DRYER) and stuff it (SPLOTS AND SQUORTS) and stick it in the oven, and your relatives come and sit in the living room (TV AUDIO, GAME) watching the football game and you stand in the kitchen enjoying a glass of Cabernet (POURING) and a Bach Sonata for unaccompanied cello (CELLO) and re-reading your review (
SS: "the work of genius that American fiction has been waiting for, a dense tangled...") and then you hear the claws on the kitchen floor (CLAW STEPS) (GOBBLE)-- and turn and see the turkey --


SS: (GASP OF SURPRISE) --


Fred Newman (TURKEY): Surprised to see me, huh. For your information, that's my sister Jolene you've got cooking in the oven there. Not that you care. Murderer. And your book isn't so hot, either.


SS: What??


FN: The characters are rather shallow.


SS: I can't believe this-- a talking turkey--


FN (TURKEY): It's the steroids. Anyway. This here in my wing is a switchblade I carved from a wishbone. Put Jolene's body into a ZipLok storage bag so I can give her a decent burial. And toss in some stuffing along with it. Otherwise, you're going to find out about the avian flu, sister.(BRIDGE)


GK: You don't feel well that night, your voice feels high and warbly. Your lips feel dry and hard, almost beak-like.


SS: Is there something wrong with me? Is my neck all red and wrinkly?


TR: You look fine.


SS: You're not even looking at me. Look at me.


TR: I'm looking.


SS: Do you see feathers on my chest and shoulders?


TR: No.


SS: No big red wrinkly pouch on my neck?


TR: You look great.

GK: In Greek mythology, a woman becomes a bird, but she becomes a swan, not a turkey --
And the next morning the other reviews start coming in. The Washington Post. (RASPBERRY) The Los Angeles Times. (HONK) The Chicago Tribune. (SPLAT) The Sunday New York Times Book Review. (PENALTY BUZZER) -- and you go to bed and you have bad dreams in which you're being chased by villagers carrying torches (MOB) and the next day you go to autograph "Go Tell It On The Prairie" and at the bookstore they pretend not to know you at first-- (
FN: Who? Let me check with the manager--.FOOTSTEPS AWAY) and nobody is there and then the manager comes (TR FEMALE: Oh. Hi. We weren't sure if you were coming or not, but here -- you can sit here and we have four copies of your book -- I'm sure that'll be more than enough -- and if you don't mind, we'd like you to autograph them in pencil.) And you sit there in misery (
SS: I can feel something wrong with my throat. It feels hot and red. And wrinkly.)


TR WOMAN: Usually when an author comes, we like to have them read from the book a little bit.


SS: Would you like me to?


TR WOMAN: If you'd like.


GK: And you stand up and there's a microphone there and the moment you speak into it, there's feedback (FEEDBACK) and customers panic (PANIC) and the alarms go off (FIRE ALARM) and you dash for the door, forgetting that you have a book in your hand and a security man grabs you (SECURITY MAN) and in two minutes (SIREN) you're on your way downtown and you appear before a judge --


TR: Do you recognize this book?


SS: I do. It's mine. I wrote it.


TR: You claim to be the author of this book?


SS: I am the author of that book.


TR: This book entitled GO TELL IT ON THE PRAIRIE?


SS: Yes.


TR: And you wrote this -- "And it was mimsy and it was borogoves and the mome raths outgrabe"? Those are your words?


SS: Oh no. (THEME)


GK: Wouldn't this be a good time for a piece of rhubarb pie? Beebopareebop Rhubarb Pie. Yes, nothing gets the taste of humiliation out of your mouth like Beebopareebop Frozen Rhubarb Pie.


But one little thing can revive a guy,
And that is home-made rhubarb pie.
Serve it up, nice and hot.
Maybe things aren't as bad as you thought.


QUARTET:
Mama's little baby loves rhubarb, rhubarb,
Beebopareebop Rhubarb Pie.
Mama's little baby loves rhubarb, rhubarb,
Beebopareebop Rhubarb Pie.