Eat This, Turkeys.

Can you make me work in this hotel all by myself on Thanksgiving Day?  Yes.

Can you stop me from rooting around where the continental breakfast items are kept, locating the industrial size bag of Lucky Charms, fixing myself a whopping bowl comprised solely of all the marshmallows which I’ve now carefully plucked out by hand, leaving only a dry, flavorless wasteland of an excuse for cereal in the bag?  No.  No, you cannot.

Happy Thanksgiving.

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