by Guinness
Yes, that time once again, the rafter of turkeys I am loathe to call relatives will be on the wing to gobble up what mother has prepared. Neither rain, nor sleet, nor snow, nor hail, not even a howling, blinding, gizzard will keep them away. They’ll carve themselves a spot at the table, and, over a cacophony of “peas pass the gravy,” “you breast be thankful!” and “gitcher hand off my thigh,” shall proceed to stuff themselves. On the spur of the moment, carUncle Tom will raise his glass to roast the family, while obese Aunt Hen-ny will wattle off to the toilet for the fifth time.
After dinner, the family will gather to raise the coop with music, daddy, a percussionist sage, will keep thyme and mince the meat out of his snare with golden drumsticks, while Sis Gibby shakes her breasts, bobs her neck and wiggles her pointed, fat tail. Baby Huey naively squeals, “dewlap dance, dewlap dance!” Cousin Feastus, drunk and teetering, will point at mother, and start in with his John Wayne impression… “I haven’t lost my temper in forty years, but Pilgrim, you could’ve gotten somebody killed today…WITH THAT COOKIN’! GUFFAW!”. I’ll become a bit of a snood, and pull Sis out of the room, sighing “Gib, let’s get real, remember what day it is… and tomorrow!” Daddy’s Labrador, named Black Friday, will jump on the kitchen counter and wish “bones” while carUncle Tom will again weave through the maize of furniture to the ash tray. Slurred speech will ensue, “No, vember that one time… Thursday was a settler downer-er… she’d mash and whip my tater’s…”
Point is, whether you be clad in dark meat or white meat, I hope you’ll be stuffing yourselves this Thanksgiving, as you count your dressings! Even if Bruce announces he’s gay and Betty announces she’s pregnant! By carUncle Tom.
Yes, that time once again, the rafter of turkeys I am loathe to call relatives will be on the wing to gobble up what mother has prepared. Neither rain, nor sleet, nor snow, nor hail, not even a howling, blinding, gizzard will keep them away. They’ll carve themselves a spot at the table, and, over a cacophony of “peas pass the gravy,” “you breast be thankful!” and “gitcher hand off my thigh,” shall proceed to stuff themselves. On the spur of the moment, carUncle Tom will raise his glass to roast the family, while obese Aunt Hen-ny will wattle off to the toilet for the fifth time.
After dinner, the family will gather to raise the coop with music, daddy, a percussionist sage, will keep thyme and mince the meat out of his snare with golden drumsticks, while Sis Gibby shakes her breasts, bobs her neck and wiggles her pointed, fat tail. Baby Huey naively squeals, “dewlap dance, dewlap dance!” Cousin Feastus, drunk and teetering, will point at mother, and start in with his John Wayne impression… “I haven’t lost my temper in forty years, but Pilgrim, you could’ve gotten somebody killed today…WITH THAT COOKIN’! GUFFAW!”. I’ll become a bit of a snood, and pull Sis out of the room, sighing “Gib, let’s get real, remember what day it is… and tomorrow!” Daddy’s Labrador, named Black Friday, will jump on the kitchen counter and wish “bones” while carUncle Tom will again weave through the maize of furniture to the ash tray. Slurred speech will ensue, “No, vember that one time… Thursday was a settler downer-er… she’d mash and whip my tater’s…”
Point is, whether you be clad in dark meat or white meat, I hope you’ll be stuffing yourselves this Thanksgiving, as you count your dressings! Even if Bruce announces he’s gay and Betty announces she’s pregnant! By carUncle Tom.
