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Thanksgiving: The Aftermath ...................Paul Ryan
Of course, I wasn't much help when, halfway through the meal, I mentioned to my brother how the college he'd be going to next semester, the University of Minnesota-Mankato, was "full of people with sexually transmitted diseases." The turkey was good, though. Last night was scary. My brother asked me if I wanted to go to Champp's, the only remotely hip bar in Richfield, Minn. He was meeting up with some friends for a quick drink. I said yes, forgetting that Champp's is the natural meeting place for all former Richfield High School people around holidays. Everyone comes home for Thanksgiving, and therefore everyone goes to Champp's the night before to meet up with old friends. I hate almost everyone I went to high school with, except for maybe two people. Since I had already hung out with one of those two people earlier in the day, the night at Champp's didn't seem to offer much. And no, I have no idea why they spell it with two p's. Luckily, nobody from my graduating class was there. I'd like to imagine that all my classmates are dead, but I think I may have to wait a few more years for that to be true. Like two years. Depends how easy it is for them to get cocaine. Little dirtbags. But now it's Thursday night. I'm full, and I'm sitting around doing nothing. I haven't done nothing in a long time, and I'm enjoying the chance to do nothing again, for an extended period this time. Nothing is something I'm good at, but it's not a hobby I get a chance to practice much. Tomorrow I shall sit around and do nothing all day, to further explore this fine delicacy of human life. I'm also going to see the play, "The Producers", tomorrow night. Don't worry, though. All I have to do is sit and watch it. It won't interfere with my important task of doing nothing all day. Next week, I'll make sure to report on how nothing went, and whether or not I found anything insightful in the nothing I did all day today. Or maybe doing nothing will dumb me down, and I'll forget to write about it next week. No, let's not get down on nothing like that. Nothing is solid. Nothing is good. Nothing is sweet. Nothing is an everlasting dream of every working person in America. Let's give nothing the benefit of the doubt, and assume that I'll just be too lazy to write about it next week. Yeah, that's it. That'll work just fine. Let's make plans to be lazy next week.
1/2 pint Guinness Pour the Guinness into a pint glass, then fill your favorite shot glass half with Irish whiskey and half with Irish cream. Drop the shot glass into the Guinness, and you're set. Best thing you've ever tasted. Go get bombed off it and write me letters. With details. See ya next week, ya lazy jerk.
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I think the real joy of the holiday began before the Thanksgiving dinner, when my father explained to my brother and I that it was okay to eat the stuffing. He was, of course, referring to how the stuffing had been cooked separately from the turkey, and therefore had not been "anally cooked."
