Happy Turkey Day!


Pass the cranberry sauce, Ma!

The wife and I (she forces me to call her that, italics and all, even in our most private intimate conversations--ssh, it's demeaning), will be cooking for my parents, and a couple of hangers-on. I think what I'm looking forward to most are the awkward silences, broken up by the occasional jaw grinding away at dry meat.

The holidays, why can't they be every month?

Oh yeah…mass suicides signal the apocalypse! Or do they? Are holiday suicides the work of the devil, as so many believe? No, I can't imagine they are.

Like the slowest gazelle, or a three legged dog, those who cannot deal with their family issues often are churned under by the cheery Thanksgiving or Christmas machine. I'm suggesting that they, the weak, are undeniable proof of Darwinism, much like the seeming storm of children swallowing toy magnets.

So, if you can't take the heat, get out of the holidays people. It is the season after all (through the ninth of January, when lights must come down or the evil home owner's association are on you like flies on mincemeat). Suicide. Think it over. It isn't just for high school kids! Plus, you'll be doing us all a favor for the Black Friday attack on the malls. You'll be one less person to stomp on, in that mad dash for chenille socks, or a discount turkey fryer.

To the rest of us: Pat yourselves on the back, you've survived. You're the holiday fittest! And, isn't that something to celebrate?

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