Madame Cranberry and the cleansing of Gravy Boat.

Thanksgiving was approaching faster than hurricane Shaniqua could make landfall in Florida.

The town of Gravy Boat, Wisconsin, had been met with a devastating blow from Dr. Douchebag and his meddling minions, making the soil impossible for the cranberry plants to grow. The holiday was almost cancelled because you can't have Thanksgiving dinner without that tart, gelatinous sauce that no one really knows how it's made. Its mysterious nature alone is the reason it can never be omitted from the annual feast.

“Sheriff! That god damned Douchebag is back and scared all my chickens away. Took me all morning just to put on some clothes to go out looking for them.”

“Sheriff? I just caught That Douchebag peeking in my window while I was changing clothes. Damn pervert!”

"Sherriff! I just fell off a ladder and that Douchebag laughed at me and called me stupid!”

The complaints were coming in faster than Shaniqua could make landfall in Florida. Something had to be done.

The sheriff grabbed his trusty phonebook and started looking through his list of contacts. Most of them were elderly, ex-deputies who could barely walk. But then he came across a flyer with the name Madame Cranberry on it. A lightbulb moment occurred. He picked up the phone and dialed the number at the bottom of the advertisement.

“Is this Madame Cranberry? You sure do look pretty on this flyer here.”

“Yes, you’ve reached the one and only, Sheriff Brokenstick. That's such a weird last name.”

“Wow! You already know my name. You must be the real deal!”

“Um…I see it on my caller ID.”

“Oh yeah, right. Forgot about that.”

“What can I help you with? Do you need cranberries?”

“Yes yes yes, we do! Dr. Douchebag is trying to ruin Thanksgiving and it’s the one holiday keeping this town together. Is there anything you can do to help?”

The phone abruptly went dead…

“I think that chick hung up on me, Plato.” the sheriff said to his overweight bloodhound sitting beside him who was chewing on the butt of a revolver. Several seconds later the sheriff heard a commotion outside the station. He gazed out the window and saw the townsfolk looking at something in the sky. It was Madame Cranberry arriving faster than Shiniqua could make landfall…

Our Superheroine wasted little time crafting a plan.

First, she located Dr. Douchebag who had several midget-like minions by his side, terrorizing an old woman carrying groceries.

A standoff loomed as their eyes locked on each other…

“Well, looky here. If it isn’t the Cranberry Queen looking like a washed-up porn star from the 70s” Dr. D said, while dropping a loaf of bread to his feet. “This town is mine! Why don’t you go home and do what you do best: having unprotected sex with those damn cranberries, hahaha! Sometimes I kill myself."

The insults only made Madame Cranberry angrier than a hurricane searching for landfall.

While hovering in the air, her eyes lit up a glowing red and she pointed all ten fingers, wait, eight fingers and two thumbs at him where endless cranberries shot out and began pummeling her adversaries. The assault was relentless, burying the entourage in a mound of lumpy, red-jellied filth.

The town began to cheer with undying relief. Thanksgiving would be saved after all.

Once Dr. D was removed from the picture, Madame Cranberry took to the skies once more, disappearing into the clouds.

She returned minutes later carrying a planet-sized sack full of cans of cranberry sauce over her shoulder, spreading them around like hailstones throughout the city, breaking windows and denting cars in the process but no one really cared. They were gathering cans of the missing side dish faster than, you guessed it, Shaniqua finally making landfall.

The town of Gravy Boat celebrated the holiday on schedule, bringing endless joy to the community.

But in the end, they weren't so forgiving, issuing Madame Cranberry a citation for the millions of dollars of damage her reckless distribution of cans caused.

She never paid the fine, stating the town had enough cranberry sauce for generations to come.

Her work was done. The holiday was saved and that's all that mattered to her apparently.

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