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Volume 7095

Written in the Spirit of OB
by John Martin


Lex Barker covers of Tarzan Dell comics periodically showed him with luscious jungle edibles or eyeing jungle animals, perhaps with a potential meal in mind. Whatever the case, Tarzan was probably a big help to Jane in finding delectable items to grace the Thanksgiving table.
Here are three accounts of what the ape man was up to on some different Thanksgiving Days over the years:

A Family Supper
Tarzan, Jane and Meriem were dressed in their formal attire for their annual Thanksgiving dinner at Greystoke Manor, deep in the jungle. Korak was standing, his left hand holding a two-pronged fork which immobilized the turkey, and his right wielding the hunting knife of his long-dead grandfather, newly sharpened and borrowed from his father for this occasion.
Jane smiled at Korak, then turned to her husband and asked, "White meat or dark meat, dear?"

Deer? Her husband's thoughts immediately envisioned a freshly slain Bara, drenched in the blood of the kill.

Then, he replied to his wife: “What, no red meat?”

“Aw Dad," said Korak. "Just spread some cranberry sauce on it.”

“Great idea!" said Tarzan. "Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!”

Tarzan and the Wild Turkey
Tarzan caught the odor of wild turkey. "Ah," he thought. "That reminds me it's nearly Thanksgiving." He raced through the middle terraces. At last he alit on a branch and surveyed the scene in the clearing below, then jumped down.

"Hey, Bubba, who's that?" exclaimed one of the redneck white hunters sitting on an ice chest in front of his camouflage safari tent.

"I'm Tarzan of the Apes," the Jungle Lord announced.  "I followed the spoor of your wild turkey."

"Well, why dontcha enjoy some southern hospitality," drawled the redneck, breaking the seal and unscrewing the lid of a new bottle. He reached for another glass.

"We're happy to share our Wild Turkey with you this Thanksgiving."

For the Love of Jane
For what seemed like hours, Tarzan had leaped from limb to limb in the middle terrace on the type of mission he would undertake only at the whim of his alluring mate, Jane.

"We need some big leaves for the Thanksgiving table," she had told him, and no sooner had she spoken than he had leaped to the sill of the open window in the Greystoke bungalow and taken to the trees. He knew of only one tree in the jungle which sported the big leaves, the Large Liana Laden Lollapalooza Tree. Now, at last, he had reached the sheer escarpment where the trees grew and succeeded in plucking not one, but several, of the huge green things the size of elephant ears.

It was late in the evening when he returned, only to find a frowning Jane sitting in the bamboo chair, her arms folded, tapping her foot impatiently.

"Where have you been?" she demanded.  "The Waziri got here right after you left and we couldn't wait so we went ahead and ate all the turkey and trimmings without you. I had to put one of our guests to work opening the closet and getting out those extra leaves so there'd be room around our Thanksgiving table for everyone."



The lioness came with a freshly killed turkey
She found on the grasslands (Now isn't that quirky!)
Numa the lion was watching the game,
As leopards stalked eland that weren't very tame.

The cubs were at play in a wrestling match,
Waiting for mom to say, "Eat! Down the hatch!"
She plopped the big bird in the midst of the pride.
It was turkey or nothing; no dish on the side.

She made sure the family was looking her way,
Then bowed her great head and said, "Let us prey."
Numa rose slowly from out of his lair,
And took a huge bite for his male lion's share.

Then mama and cubbies took turns at the rest,
The cubs winding up with a wishbone to test.
Then all hit the hay, from cubbies to Pap,
The tryptophan working to prompt them to nap.

But before drifting off, a roar from the king
Said "I wish everyone a Great Fangsgiving."


Unlike Carson of Amtor, Samuel L. Jackson,
who played George Washington Williams in "The Legend of Tarzan,"
doesn't believe golf is a mental disorder.

"I like golf because it's a perfect game for an only child like me," he said.
"In this game, you get responsibility for everything you do bad,
and you get all the credit for everything you do well."

Carson Napier on golf, from "Lost on Venus," Chapter 2:
Commenting to Duare while attempting to make fire:
"It's like golf. Most people never learn to play it, but very few give up trying.
I shall probably continue my search for fire until death overtakes me,
or Prometheus descends to Venus as he did to earth."
"What is golf and who is Prometheus?" demanded Duare.
"Golf is a mental disorder and Prometheus a fable."

Samuel L. Jackson on golf, from TV Guide:
Ripley's Believe It Or Not for Nov. 26:


Numa padded stealthily through the jungle, seeking the sweet meat of Bara the deer or the like to fill the empty cavity that was his belly. These were hard times and game was scarce.

Above him, in the lower terraces, moving just as silently as the great cat, was Tarzan of the Apes. The jungle lord did not relish the flesh of the lion but he was hungry as well, since the poachers had pretty nearly cleaned out all of the formerly abundant game in the great Jahalahari tract.

At last Tarzan was directly above Numa at a moment when the beast paused to sniff the air. Tarzan reached for the hunting knife of his long-dead sire, his hand closing around the grip. But even before he had fully extracted the blade from its sheath, he knew it was the wrong knife. The feel of the handle was strange; the weight was off; the faint sound of the metal sliding against the leather scabbard was foreign.

The syllables of jungle Billingsgate that formed soundlessly upon his mouth would have made a lip reader blush. "That kid's been playing Tarzan again," he snarled to himself, thinking of the stocky toddler that was his grandson, "and he left the wrong knife in my scabbard."

Tarzan brought the offending weapon in front of his face and gritted his teeth in anger and frustration. It was a fair enough knife, and one that most hunters would have been proud to carry and utilize. But it was not his father's knife and, thus, it would simply not be right, in his mind, to use it on Numa, even to provide sustenance to meet his needs. And despite the fact that Numa was usually his enemy, he had respect for the King of Beasts and did not wish to dishonor him by slaying him with an inferior knife. He'd just as soon lie out on the veldt and wait for Ska to swoop down so he could snare the foul fowl to sate his hunger.

In disgust, Tarzan stabbed the blade into the limb on which he crouched and left it there to rust.

But now what? He considered dropping on Numa's back anyway and killing him by breaking his neck with a full Nelson and then using his teeth to rip into the tawny body. It wouldn't have been the first time Tarzan had dispatched a lion bare-handed. But, remembering that cat meat was far from his favorite, he decided to use his remaining strength to seek the elusive Bara instead.

And Numa, too, continued to hunt, oblivious to the fact that it was his lucky day.


After Tarzan had his clock cleaned by Akut, he sat in a clearing gritting his teeth while George Washington Williams methodically applied ants to strategic locations on his body, their pincers clicking onto the open wounds to stitch them together.

"Just about got 'em all?" the ape man asked.

“Almost," said Williams. "But I see one more spot on your left arm. A couple of these critters should close that one up just fine.”

Tarzan looked at the area Williams had indicated and shook his head. "You'll need more than that," he said. "That's at least a four-ant lesion."


Tarzan's afternoon nap was interrupted by the ding of the microwave. He sat up on the French couch in the Greystoke bungalow and stretched like a great, tawny cat. Jane's voice came from the kitchen: "Dinnertime, dear."

Tarzan walked into the dining room and sat down at the head of the table, plucking the folded napkin with the Greystoke crest from the round, gold napkin ring, decorated by the Greystoke crest. He noted his reflection in the china with the Greystoke crest in the middle. He then took his fork with the Greystoke crest and looked up expectantly as Jane entered the room, carrying two small plastic trays.

"What's for dinner?" the ape man asked.

“You have a choice," said Jane. "Macaroni and cheese with corn, apple fritter and cookies, or popcorn chicken, crinkly fries, corn and pudding with sprinklies.”

“You know I hate macaroni and cheese," said Tarzan.

Jane smiled indulgently. "That's okay, John," she said. "Here, you take the chicken and I'll have the mac and cheese."

"Why, thank you, Jane," smiled Tarzan. As he scraped the food from the tray onto his plate, he asked her, "How many more meals like this are we going to have to eat?"

"There's still quite a bit in the freezer from the stuff that Kids Cuisine sent us from the Disney Tarzan promotion a few years ago."

Tarzan rolled his eyes. "I wish Korak and Meriem would help by eating more of it," he said.

"I need to go back for the wine," said Jane, and -- leaving her plate at the other end of the table -- disappeared for what Tarzan knew would be a couple of minutes while Jane went to the cellar and back. He gave a low whistle and a great, golden lion padded into the room. "Here you go boy," said Tarzan, holding out the Greystoke dish for Jad-bal-ja to consume its contents with two great licks of his giant tongue.

When Jane came back, Tarzan was picking his teeth.

"Finished already, Tarzan?" she smiled.

"Just in time for some of that wine," the ape man replied.

But his mind was a few miles away, thinking of the hot, raw flesh of Bara the deer which he would be sinking his teeth into as soon as he could come up with a logical reason for leaving the house.

"What's that thing in the middle of the table?" Tarzan asked.

   "Oh," smiled Jane. "That's a lazy Susan."

   "It doesn't leave much room for my spear," complained the ape man.

   "You won't need it to stab and retrieve your food," Jane  explained. "When you want something, you spin this around and the food  you want will come right to you."

Tarzan grimaced but sat down, looking at the rotating food  conveyance with suspicion. He gave it a slow spin to inspect the  offerings.

"Well, do you like what I made?" Jane smiled.

Tarzan frowned. "It's all been cooked," he said.

Akut enjoyed exploring during his brief time in London
before he and the boy boarded the steamship at Dover.
But during that time he had discovered that civilization’s trees did not yield their fruit very easily,
so he looked forward to his return to his beloved jungle.

by John Martin
(With apologies to Samuel Taylor Coleridge)
In Africa did Tublat-Zan
A shelter build in Dum-Dum land,
Where gom-lul’s sacred waters ran
Through forests measureless to man
Down to a sparkling sea.
So in the nest of quiet ground
With walls of jungle girdled round
To garden bright he brought the she
Where blossom’d many a perfumed tree,
Amidst the forest betwixt the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But O! That secret place of romance,
Brought echoes of another rite: the dance.
A savage place! Unholy, enchanted
As a’er beneath a blazing moon was haunted
By the shadows of mangani shapes.
As they danced, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
In fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty foe lay lifeless, its form
To suffer bursts of fury.
Hugh fragments torn by hairy grasps,
To feel the grain of thresher’s jaws,
And ‘mid these dancing hulks at once and ever,
Its flesh did nourish as the sacred river.
But from this place of tumult Tublat-Zan heard call
The voices from another world unknown!
Anon there was a miracle of chance:
A sheltered pleasure dome where now,
A damsel with her tresses gold
More than any vision seen did rest.
She was a shining, loving maid,
And on his heart this vision played,
Turning beast to man.
Thus kindled deep within him
Her symphony and song,
Caused deep delight to win him,
With her music loud and long.
He would build a dome for her!
A sunny dome! A great estate!
And all who heard should see them there!
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His keen grey eyes! His floating hair!
She weaved her arms around his frame,
And closed her eyes with holy dread!
As he then through the branches sped
No more would gom-lul satisfy; he'd
tasted milk of Paradise.



Wolf Larson strode into Lydie's kitchen and saw the bowl of steaming brown glop. Beside it was a stack-pack of soda crackers which had been torn open to make the contents accessible. A large soup spoon was on the table as well, in addition to a bottle of beer with the cap already removed.

"What's that stuff?" Wolf asked with hostility. "I won't even mention what it looks like."

  Lydie smiled. She was used to the gruff manner with which Wolf reacted to the delicious dishes she prepared.

"It's something new we're trying," she said. "It's called Wolf Brand Chili. Your son recommended it.

Wolf sat down and grabbed a cracker with his left hand and picked up the spoon with his right. He captured a pile of chili on it and placed it unerringly on the cracker, then guided it expertly into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully for a few minutes and then an angry expression crossed his face and he spat the residue back into the bowl.

"I cannot eat this!" he exclaimed. "This does not have the taste I love: The blood of the kill!!"

"Of course not," said Lydie, patting his head. "It's Wolf Brand Vegetarian Chili."



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