Thanksgiving is coming twice. Oooh baby. . .

I can smell it, reader. Turkey. That lightly smoked flavor drifting through the house, slowly swirling around your head, driving you crazy hours before it's time to eat. You're glad you don't have to bring your work home to do on Thanksgiving, because it would be impossible to once the turkey is in the oven. For those long hours, all you can think of is deliciously tender turkey, cool and sugary cranberry sauce, warm soft rolls fresh from the oven, and rich dark gravy, hot and ready to be poured over everything on your plate.

I didn't write that last paragraph to make you hungry, reader. I wrote it because my friend Alyssa (who I think still reads this column) is sick today, and I'm trying to make her vomit. Hi Alyssa!

Since she's sicker than Robert Downey Jr. the morning after his latest booze/acid/pot/heroin/speed/meth/cocaine binge, so I assume she won't be in the mood to eat much turkey on Thanksgiving. Therefore, I'd like to use this precious literary real estate to inform her family that they can drop off Alyssa's share of the Thanksgiving meal at my apartment.

I like white turkey meat, sans the gravy, with large helpings of cranberry sauce, corn, dinner rolls, and freshly-baked pie. If you could cook me up some tater tots instead of mashed potatoes, that would also be appreciated. Mashed potatoes taste like nothing, while tater tots with a half bottle's worth of ketchup rock my world hardcore. Oh, and when you drop it off outside my apartment, put it on a hot plate, so it will be warm when I get there. Thanks a bunch!

Meanwhile, I'll be busy with my own family's Thanksgiving activities. I wouldn't miss it for the world, because as my dad says, "Thanksgiving is the only day of the year your mother actually cooks, so you don't want to miss it." For my mom, the Thanksgiving activities include doing all the work. For us men in the Ryan family, the Thanksgiving activities include sitting on our asses and watching football. Unfortunately, my dad doesn't like drinking, so I won't be able to sit around getting plastered while watching football, which is a damn shame. I will have to rely almost entirely on my friends and my brother to get me wasted in the evenings.

So I'll spend Thanksgiving and the day after with brutal hangovers, and my dad will laugh at me and make remarks about what a moron I am, and how I'm "getting what you deserve." Once the hangover fades, my helplessness will turn to bitterness, and I'll take a steaming dump in his pillowcase before driving back home to La Crosse. Okay, so I've never really done that. But you know I have the guts to do it, dad, so don't test me on this one. After eating Thanksgiving dinner, I'll have plenty of ammo.

Well, if Alyssa wasn't barfing before, she's definitely barfing now. Either way, my job here is done. There won't be a column tomorrow, because nobody comes to this website on holidays. Also, because I'm lazy. Have a good Thanksgiving, and remember: defecating in your father's pillow is a holiday gift he'll never forget.

Liz Tormes' music career started by accident. She was recruited by a New York opry for her sense of time, and not knowing how to play guitar, she stuck a playing card between the neck and strings of her guitar, so it would produce a muted backbeat that didn't require her to know how to play. Now she knows how to play, and does it well. Her acoustic songs are quietly happy, and sometimes mild yet sad. Either way, she's perfect for anyone who loves a nice acoustic guitar sound. "Let's Pretend" by Liz Tormes

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Reader Comments

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Katers      Nov 26, 2003 • 2:37pm   God bless us all on Thanksgiving, every last one of us . . . wait. I think that's from The Christmas Story. Ohhhh noooo . . . I've got holiday dyslexia. Fuck. cuz      Nov 26, 2003 • 12:24pm   Gee Paul, I guess you haven't called home lately. Your mom isn't there. she's having Thanksgiving dinner at my house this year where she won't have to lift a finger. Don't worry though. You can call 1-800-Butterball for complete instructions. Happy T-day!Gobble Gobble!

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