How to cook a goose

Now that I've arrived at a place in my life where I can't make mistakes anymore, I'm ready to cook a goose.*

First, I locate the rancher who farms genetically correct, range free geese. I have to drive to Petaluma, well within the sphere of the electric car.

Once procured and home, I pluck the feathers and wrap the goose in an American flag. Then I Google the Constitution of the United States to see what the next steps should be.

Since Julia Child and Martha Stewart contradict one another, I improvise. The whole project's a total disaster, a boiling mess of fat and small bone.

In retrospect, I see that nothing good could have come from this. I have no other course of action other than to question my original motivation.

*a goose can't be cooked.