Thanksgiving: A Feast for the Birds

Thanksgiving. A joyous celebration of the meeting of the Old World with the New World. How exciting it must have been the day the first settlers set foot on this strange and wonderful world and came face to face with the original natives of this exciting new land. Not unlike the Grand Opening of a Walgreens.

I can imagine them sharing a huge meal made with recipes from both sides of the Atlantic. I can imagine the colonists talking, laughing, shaking hands, and befriending their new brethren, not realizing that these newcomers would virtually wipe them off the face of the Earth three centuries from now. drink everything

In honor of that tradition, we decided to continue this important celebration every third or fourth Thursday in November, depending on the current administration and whether or not the president had a duck hunting expedition planned for that weekend.

Just like that first eventful celebration long ago, we also have friends in our homes so we can indulge in the pleasure of human companionship by filling ourselves with turkey, dressings, candied yams, gelatin molds, and an array of desserts that would make a Weight Watchers counselor go to confession.

At the end of this gluttonous feast, the men undo their belt buckles, let out a loud, nasty belch that can be heard in the next zip code, and stretch out on the couch to watch seemingly endless football matches.

The women, on the other hand, have the glorious task of cleaning the table, jamming the dishwasher to the maximum and discussing, using subliminal hints so as not to warn her, what to get Grandma for Christmas.

The kids head to the bedroom where they plugged in the Nintendo and loudly destroy the military resistance of Zaxxon’s forces. Or, they turn on the VCR where they watch a slew of Disney animated videos, until the fourteen-year-old know-it-all, his hormones raging, inserts a pirated copy of “Debby Does Dallas.”

One cannot help but wonder, did the pilgrims have this kind of debauchery in mind when they sat down centuries ago to enjoy the harvest they had just reaped?

Can you really imagine colonists gobbling down a huge poultry meal, corn stuffing, and pumpkin pie, only to throw themselves in front of an open fire, holding their overstuffed bellies and wishing someone would invent Alka-Seltzer?

Is it hard to imagine, around ten o’clock, everyone piling into the kitchen area of ‚Äč‚Äčthat little house to make a turkey sandwich on rye bread topped with cranberries? (That is, until Mr. Hellman came up with a better idea?)

Might it be possible for the women to discuss, while dumping the bones and carcass of a now meatless bird, the great sale of buffalo hides at the local trading post?

Did they all, after finishing this hearty meal, descend into the open fields of clover to witness a display between the real Redskins and Patriots?

How hard is it to conceive of the thought of children, back in the day, playing an exciting game of Donkey Kong… with a real donkey?

I really find it hard to believe that this is what our ancestors had in mind. Do you really think our ancestors would be proud of us if they saw what we have done to the celebration they so carefully created? Probably not. What the hell. They are dead. Pass me a drumstick.

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