Let's be honest: who the hell wants to carry a turkey up six flights of stairs? Even we wouldn't do that to the Fresh Direct dudes, and it's not like we'd even know what to do with a raw bird anyhow. As such, we're chasing the tryptophan dragon back to Quaintsville for our yearly binge-and-purge. We'll be back, in some bloated form, after we're done cleaning the gravy off of our panties. Be good while we're gone, and try not to point your semiautomatic rifles at tomorrow's scary SpongeBob balloons.