It's All About Food, Family And Indians

  Well, tomorrow marks the opening salvo in the holiday season. Nothing else matters but food this Thursday. Family is nice, but they just get in my way. I'll be nice and friendly like I really give a shit that we all got together. As far as I'm fucking concerned, some of them can gag on a gizzard. And there's always the unknown relative that shows up with the little turd ball kids in tow, and you're like, "Who da fuck is you white boy? Who's yo daddy?" Damn, do I fake it and be nice, or do I be myself?

  Thanksgiving used to be about Pilgrims and the story of how the red man (native American red man) shared some fucking corn and turkey with them. Supposedly, they all sat around a big picnic table making like they were all buddies and shit. The spits were all fired up, and the birds were roasting on an open fire. I'll bet they roasted chestnuts on an open fire too. Anyway, they all got along so well that day that they decided they would get together every year like a big damn family reunion. The other 364 days of the year were to be the usual however. The pillaging, raping, looting, shooting and scalping were to carry on in the finest of true American tradition.

  I don't know about everyone else, but when we get together as a family at Thanksgiving we don't invite Indians. It's not that I don't like them. I love the little red bastards. It's just that I see all the Indians I can handle at the casinos. Besides, we have too damn many unknown relatives show up. Twenty four people last year of whom I honestly knew the names of about seven...Talk about being a stranger in your own home. Well, it's going to be overwith soon enough I suppose. Then I can get back to my usual unsociable and sociopathic self. At least I'll have a full stomach. Does pizza go with cranberry sauce? That's a thought, and I won't share either!-Don.