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The way the country is collectively loosening its belt, rolling off the couch and emitting farts to wake the founding fathers tells me that American thanksgiving has come.

We’ve stuffed ourselves silly, drank everything within reach and endured our relatives while jockeying to not be stuck at the “kids’ table” AGAIN this year.

Since TV this week is lame and your football team is already out of it, it’s a good time to quietly reflect and make amends for all those things you’ve royally screwed up.

Gobble gobble!

I’m sorry I misunderstood your invitation. When you said, “We’re having a traditional turkey dinner. There’ll be no dressing,” I just interpreted it differently than you. That’s no crime, even if what I then did to the gravy is. It needed to be stirred. Sue me.

I’m sorry I put an outboard motor on the gravy boat. But, man, did you see that baby MOVE!

I’m sorry chocolate turkey isn’t a thing.

I’m sorry the “corn” in cornucopia has nothing to do with bunions. No judging, you.

I’m sorry about what I said to Uncle Milt. But, hey, if your dead uncle rose out of the Jell-O mould, you’d drop a few f-bombs too.

I’m sorry centerpieces are so flammable.

I’m sorry the grandmothers don’t get along. I’m even more sorry we didn’t install that metal detector when we had the chance.

I’m sorry that the pilgrims invented turkey instead of red velvet cake, ’cause I could eat the hell out of some red velvet cake.

I’m sorry about the carpet stains. On the other hand, it was cool how far that aerosol whipped topping went, wasn’t it?

I’m sorry I accused your brother of cheating at cards. But I’m not sorry I stole his watch.

I’m sorry Thanksgiving is a federal holiday every year while Carpet Fiber Day goes tragically unnoticed.

I’m sorry I put up signs advertising a “Black Friday” sale in your tool shed. It was awfully nice of you to give pie to those people camped out in the rose bushes though.

I’m sorry sweet potatoes are a thing.

I’m sorry I stood up and screamed, “MORE, bitches!” at your kid’s school Thanksgiving pageant. I thought passing the bottle first would buy me some good will, but nooooo.

I’m sorry “Planes, Trains & Automobiles” is the best, but also the only, Thanksgiving movie.

I’m sorry that Wal-Mart, so desperate to extend Black Friday into Thanksgiving, annexed your gazebo to sell economy-sized rolls of toilet paper.

Stick  a fork in the bird. This column’s done.

Happy Thanksgiving!




























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