Let me get one thing straight: I love Thanksgiving, but I also hate the ever-loving shit out of it. Not only does tryptophan take me out like a low-grade-beaver-tranquilizer, but I also have to eat it for the next few days in leftover-sandwich form. I’m still groggy, and I may even fall asleep while writing thi;okeanefgakl;sdnfslsssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss... oh dear me! I must have fallen asleep mid-sentence. Good thing my dog woke me up in his helpful/humping fashion, otherwise there would have been even MORE S’s! Well, anyway, what was I talking about? Oh yes: the day in which we pretend we were ever nice to the Native Americans. Well... I shouldn’t say WE, I suppose. I’M Irish and Polish (the drunk/dumb one-two punch of genetics.) The people who fucked over the Native Americans left and right were predominantly British, and not really Americans at all... so I suppose we can blame this one on the British too (it’s added to the long list which includes vinegar as a condiment, teeth as disposable items and Queen Elizabeth as a man.) Well, I guess I should focus the rest of this blog post a little more, considering that I went from genetics to transvestites in just two sentences. So, here are three things I hate about Thanksgiving: Family, Native Americans and the impending doom that is Black Friday.
I love my family. I really do. I just don’t really like talking about religion in front of my mom or grandma (it’s like talking about Pokemon at a Yu-Gi-Oh convention: you can make many valid points, but they’ll still be retarded.) I also don’t like talking about politics in front of my dad (just to paint you a picture of his political stances, he’s a fan of Sarah Palin. ‘Nuf said.) And I REALLY don’t like talking about Jewish people in front of my Grandpa (He’s a great guy, just super antisemitic. On a scale of 1-Adolf Hitler, he’s a Mel Gibson, just with better dominant genetic traits. Thanks Grandpa!) Oh yeah, this was supposed to be a focused blog post from now on. Oops.
Native Americans (aka Indians, People Who Cry at Trash on the Interstate, etc) really kill the Thanksgiving vibe for me. They just seem super ungrateful about Thanksgiving as a whole, and I don’t know why. I mean, at least we didn’t give them LARGE Pox, right? This is, of course, a joke. I understand that our country has screwed them more times than Ron Jeremy has screwed vagina-kind in general. I, for one, love Native Americans. They’ve given us great things like male ponytails, the first hybrid house (aka, the Tipi, a tent/chimney) and numerous casinos. In turn, we gave them small pox, alcoholism and shitty reservations. Ummm.... our bad....
Black Friday (aka the day that you bought 10 copies of Taylor Swift’s new album, simply because they were half-off) is disgusting. It’s rampant consumerism at it’s worst. People have literally died from stampedes trying to get the greatest deals of the season (to be fair, getting The Complete Boxed set of Sex and the City on Blu-Ray for half-off is totally worth the murder.) Sure, I could talk about how much I hate Black Friday for a few more paragraphs, but I’ll spare you the time (FYI, it would have involved more murder. Sweet, sweet murder.) Honestly, there’s not much else to say about Black friday... except for the fact that my mom is able to buy me twice as many Christmas presents if she goes shopping then. Never mind: Black Friday fucking rocks.
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