Time to be Thankful Again

Oh good Christ, Thanksgiving is in less than a month and I haven’t spent any time at all thinking of what I’m thankful for! Crap!

Um, okay, well, I’m thankful I’m not a Turkey! Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha! What? Screw you, it’s funny. You try coming up with a joke that good right off the top of your head. Yes, I have probably made that joke before, perhaps most Thanksgivings, I was feeling a little pressured here and I FORGOT! OH GOD PLEASE FORGIVE ME FOR BEING HUMAN AND FORGETTING IF YOU THINK YOU ARE BETTER THAN ME, BECAUSE NEWSFLASH, YOU ARE NOT!!

And isn’t that the meaning of Thanksgiving, really, when you think about it? Unreasonable rage and over reaction? See how I did turned that around? That’s thinking on your toes. That’s being a professional writer. You try that. Well. Not I used to be professional. These days I just give my writing away for free. There’s a whole different word for that. We can debate which is more dignified if you’d like. Frankly getting paid for it and giving it away are both degrading, just in different ways. Are we still talking about writing?

But seriously folks, unreasonable rage and over reaction are the backbone of the American dream and I’m thankful for them, so shut up. The Native Americans brought corn and wild turkey to the first Thanksgiving. Know what we brought to the table? That’s right. Unreasonable rage and over reaction. And intolerance. And a centerpiece. Good knows what was on it. Couldn’t have been a pilgrim, right? That wouldn’t have made any sense. And we didn’t even know Turkey would be the traditional meal until the Native Americans brought it. So that’s out. Probably a cornucopia.

‘Cause what’s more fun in the center of your table than a symbol of bounty when you’re probably going to starve to death over the winter if you don’t freeze first? The Native Americans did not know sh*t about centerpieces, because they may have been helpful, kind, and the only reason we survived the first, second, and next thirty or so years in America, but they were also savages.

I mean, look at the corn they brought! You know that inedible crap you hang on your door with the multi colored kernels, ‘Indian’ Corn? Well why the hell did you think it’s called that? It’s racist code for ‘not food corn’. Of course, they called it ‘Maize’ because they couldn’t speak a damn word of English. And Wild Turkey? I’ll tell you what; it wasn’t the Wild Turkey I bring to Thanksgiving. And you know why I bring my Wild Turkey? Oh yes. Because it helps fuel my Unreasonable rage and over reaction. And I don’t really ‘bring’ it, so much as I ‘arrive having finished a the bottle’.

I mean, let’s face it, Without unreasonable rage and over reaction I’d still be at the damn kids table, in the basement! I’m fifty-two! I have children of my own! We have thanksgiving at my house; I am not spending another Thanksgiving in my own basement! The wife says I have to be down there because of my problems with unreasonable rage and over reaction, but A.) The Wild Turkey helps me fear her less and B.) The children don’t enjoy my drunken antics any more than my adult relatives and assorted guests do and C.) WHY THE HELL DID WE INVITE MY ADULT RELATIVES AND ASSORTED GUESTS AGAIN!? I THOUGHT I HAD BEEN CLEAR ABOUT THAT! I THOUGHT I HAD BEEN VERY, VERY, CRYSTAL CLEAR! DOESN’T ANYBODY GIVE A LITTLE TIN CRAP ABOUT WHAT I WANT AT THANKSGIVING!?

Okay. Okay. At least I’m not a Turkey and OH CRHIST I MADE THAT JOKE ALREADY! SH*T! GOD DAMNIT! CRAP! Oh, I’m thankful for cursing, that’s three things. No, no, four things; Not being a turkey, unreasonable rage and over reaction, and cursing, that’s four. And Wild Turkey, and not being at the kids table this year, that’s five and six, and you know what, I’m thankful my adult relatives and guests are going to be here. I truly am. Because the only thing that says ‘Hello!’ to a big, steaming cornucopia of unreasonable rage and over reaction better than a full bottle of Wild Turkey is having to listen to your adult relatives sling barbs at each other about sh*t that happened during the first BUSH ADMINISTRATION! “Could you pass the peas or are you going to CHEAT ON ME and finish them?” “Well maybe if you didn’t spend all your time on the mashed potatoes and stuffing and corn relish and cranberry sauce so that at the end of the day you had nothing left for ME I’d never have needed so many PEAS!!” And yes, sure, I could let it just roll off me like whiskey off a Turkeys back, but that wouldn’t be unreasonable, would it, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be rage or an over reaction, and if I wasn’t so neck swelling enraged there’d be no reason to drink so much Wild Turkey that I don’t even find out ‘til the next day how I stripped to my underwear, climbed atop the table weeping and tried unsuccessfully to have a meaningful interlude with the gravy boat! Thank God I won’t be at the kids table this year. I’d hate for my children to see me like that instead of just hearing desperate screams and the memorable, near symphonic sound of a full Thanksgiving table collapsing.

That’s got to get me up to at least ten things I either am or plan on being thankful for. That’s not even counting pumpkin pie, which I find very soothing the next morning when the sound of chewing anything more solid than Pumpkin pie would be unbearable, as I plan on having a Macy’s-Parade-Giant-Ass-Clifford-the-Big-Red-Dog-Balloon-Sized Wild Turkey hangover.

Turn the sound down kids. Daddy loves the floats, but the marching bands are God’s own punishment on The Damned. Happy Thanksgiving.

AUTHORS NOTE: The idea that I am a raging alcoholic is not autobiographical detail and is used here strictly for comedic purposes, which is not actually that funny if you think about it so please don’t. All that is in my past. But if you are looking for ‘amends’, you are looking in the wrong place.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s