Thanksgiving is a time for family

A guest post.


TO HELL WITH THANKSGIVING; AND RELATIVES TOO!!!!

By Mean Old Man


I can’t stand the fact that it is once again the stupid holiday of Thanksgiving!!! Every year I have to put up with my dimwit relatives and their cackling kids playing Frisbee with my Perry Como albums while I'm trying to take a damned nap!! Well, at least this year I don't have to drag myself over to my stupid son Harlan's place to eat his harlot wife's turkey loaf with Stove Top Stuffing!! Hell, I wouldn't feed that tripe to a liberal!!!!!


But having the holiday here at the ol' homestead ain't no picnic either. The whole disaster starts at around 10 that morning when the first of the wrecking crew arrives. It usually is Thelma Jean's brother Judd--now I ain't one to cast judgments but I think he's one of those "funny boys" (if you know what I mean) what with his manicured nails, his fancy suits, the six pack of Zima, not to mention the fact that he always shows up with his "fishing buddy" Hal. I was stuck one year alone in the living room talking to these two bozos and I can tell you that they really creeped me out; I was more relaxed being under a bare light bulb during an interrogation by a Japanese Lieutenant during WWII. Damn!!!!


Of course, my stupid sons and their spawns arrive around noon; that's when the headaches really start. My son Clay's dense wife Jill always feels as if she has to bring dessert. She comes in with this liquid concoction settled in a granite shell which she calls pumpkin pie. She says that it's a secret family recipe; if I came up with that dumb recipe I'd keep it a secret too. The pie, however does come in handy for keeping the ol' barn door open on windy days.

I always keep looking at my trusty pocket watch, hoping that time flies and they will all go the hell home.
When Thelma Jean finally plops the turkey on the table, well, you've never seen anything like it. I swear that the pigs in my pen show more class and manners while they're eating!! I have to train my eyes to look only at my plate, otherwise I see my snot nosed grandkids chewing with their mouths wide open, my stupid daughter in law pasting on her bordello style lipstick every twenty seconds and my dumb brother in law Judd insisting that eating any kind of meat is a sin and unhealthy (I told you he was "funny") and on and on and on. I'm sure that even you commies who read this twirpy webpage can understand where I am coming from.

Then after dinner the real fun starts because the punk grandkids have to play, but don't dare tell them to take it outside. It's usually cold or rainy and, of course, that'll kill a little kid. Kids today are such wimps, they don't know anything about adventure. I remember one Thanksgiving when I was a tyke and it was snowing like the Yukon outside, the wind was blowing at around 80 m.p.h. My old man stuffed his gut, popped open a Steg, and went into the living room to listen to the Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy Thanksgiving Hour on the trusty teardrop radio. But before he did any of this he opened the door and kicked me out of it. I wandered around in the snow (which was up to my chin) for what seemed like hours. When the show was over and he let me inside I had blue skin, my lips were all chapped from the cold, I was disoriented and my ears were burning up. It was horrendous, painful and degrading for a child. And I loved it!!!! Because my old man taught me something, he taught me to be tough and to have character!!! Not like the wimpy kids today who tell the parents to go outside!!

So the little runts will be running around the house and throwing things, complaining and crying that they want to go home. Sometimes to get them off of my back I'll call them over to my chair in the corner and rip my false teeth out of my mouth. The look of fright on their little faces is almost worth the six hours of misery that I have to go through. It's usually after this that my hippie sons and their wives get mad at me and leave the house crying. Then, if I can dodge Thelma Jean's pie roller from cracking my skull, it’s Wheel of Fortune time!

Well, all you damned commies, enjoy your Thanksgiving. Maybe you'll luck out and Sarah Palin will bring a fresh killed turkey to your door (though I doubt any of you eat meat); as for me, I'm quickly eating dinner, heading to the attic with a few bottles of Steg and a pack of Lucky's (LSMFT), and my Perry Como albums, along with a toothbrush to polish up my false teeth for later on. Happy Turkey Day. I hate you all!!!!!!!