The Missing Day: When Dinner's Not Awkward Enough

             

  

In time for Thanksgiving, Jack reminds us that it isn‘t just a chance to join family and friends and enjoy good food, but that it‘s a God-Given occasion, and we should always remember its foundations as a feast enjoyed by hateful paranoid religious fanatics who would quickly turn on themselves as quickly as they could. Really. What could be a greater slap in the face to Darwinists than a story about completely displaced nut jobs manning to thrive and outnumber a group of indigenous people clearly far better equipped to survive their environs.

Jesus shed something for us, and it wasn’t cranberry sauce, folks! It’s time to be thankful you’re still alive, and thus were able to read this important, life-altering tract! And bow your heads for the Pilgrims, the first bible-thumpers ever!

Seems like a sweet family, but Jack tells us to never trust the overweight. You can tell they’re misguided because they have expectations of other people’s behavior. Obviously, this is a monster of a family. They defend their aunt’s cooking and have diabetes. Those poor, misguided souls. What’s the dude getting out of the station wagon worried about? You’re there man, you’re not going to miss anything. Just get in the house.Unless lovers of the dog show rule the TV with an iron fist.

Goddamn, that broad on the right must be sloshed, if even her thought patterns are slurred. The kid’s trying to hock off drugs on his relatives, little realizing the goods will be “confiscated” and little Timmy will be out a whole two big ones worth of ice. Still, the temptation to peddle at a Holiday where one’s bound to get the munchies is tempting. By the way, is the dark haired lady being sinful because she has a camera? I know that’s like, taking someone’s soul, but clearly this can be chalked up to petty theft.

 Mortimer wishes the entire family a “Happy Thanksgiving“, which confuses some. By the way, look at that kid feeding the goldfish to the dog. Hey, dogs need to feast on thanksgiving too, and Fido has a low cholesteral tolerance. Seriously, for such a devout and pious figure, Jack sure knows how to get into the mind of the depraved. Or give them ideas. When video games and horror movies are blamed for impressionable children’s messed up behavior, how come these here tracks are off the hook?

In all our hustle and bustle around the Holidays, we turned our backs and they went and secularized Thanksgiving. You bastards! The schools let us say it, folks. They may want us to deny the existence of God and prayer, but they know better than to trifle with the sacredness of a the day celebrating our cultural imperialism over a whole continent! And last time I checked, it wasn’t called the “Turkey Day Parade”. It should be noted, thrice now, that the religious Uncle Mortimer is very rich, because apparently there must be a material reason to be devout.

Everyone has to listen to Mortimer‘s story…is this really a good way of buttering someone up? Shouldn‘t you keep the other family member alienated from the moneybags? It starts in England, but quickly detours through Holland…just because. Look as they fear the Dutch. Look! And why not? Their wooden shoes are pretty blatant attempts at mimicking the Devil’s cloven hooves. Actually, the story is a little more complicated than that. Any rudimentary play will tell you the Pilgrims sought religious freedom. The reason they didn't cope so well in Holland? The Dutch were so tolerant, the Pilgrims' kids figured they were better role models, and they couldn't have that.

It wasn‘t smooth sailing on the Mayflower. Only 100 people? That’s not much of a movement, if you ask me. Barely even a parish. As much as I hate being seasick, if that’s the worst a 17th century voyage has to offer, I’d say that’s pretty good. Hell, you can’t exactly be starving if you even have food to vomit to begin with. Otherwise, the school was wrong for ruling out my interpretation of William Bradford having "dry heaves" in the annual play.

Plymouth Rock is a cold, unforgiving place. Infested with bears, wolves…and snakes. Pythons. In the winter. In the snow. Luckily, God let them find food that belonged to someone else. Let’s make this clear, everyone. We shouldn’t thank the Indians for growing and gathering vitals--we should thank God for looking the other way on his “thou shalt not..” policy. Thank you God, for you are quite merciful. Unless you have dark skin. Then you’re a dick.

Now it‘s down to 50. Wow, 50 must have seemed like a while lot more when I was a child. The Grim Reaper makes the scene, sending his pet vulture (in New England) after the poor settlers. Then again, if you’re just sitting on your ass while in the middle of nowhere while the angel of death is coming after you, than perhaps it’s better for the colony you’re out of the way.

Squanto‘s here to help, and I don‘t think that will backfire at all. Is the point of Thanksgiving brotherhood? Nah. God was thanked for allowing them to live despite all . The Indians? Well, they should be thankful they were invited, even after being taught to fish and grow crops. (Which apparently these guys saw fit to travel to a whole new continent without the knowhow of. Was Virginia really that in the market for ministers?)

The family is miffed, but the young child brad is elated that the Puritans' skins were saved. I know apple pie is All-American and everything (even though the Dutch make it better) but I’m pretty sure things like Mom and Beer are enjoyed in nations all across the world. I don’t think we were growing in pods until the 1700’s.

Thanksgiving has never been the most honored day (especially when the South considered it the occasion of the Godless Yankess!) in terms of gluttony, football watching, Nationalism and awkward family situations, we’ve have other Holidays for. It’s only really honored because wouldn’t our in-laws just love if we skipped out on it. It’s a filler Holiday…something to let us know to take down our Halloween decorations and put up our Christmas ones. And that’s okay. But it was the Dennis Quaid of Holidays and well know it.

The family finds being sent to Hell to be sort of an appetizer-ruiner. It’s understandable. I stop eating at Thanksgiving once my grandmother talks about her arthritis. The bald guy just gets so turned on seeing his gay boyfriend called wicked. Come on buddy, we all know it’s true. You’re a bad, bad boy. What‘s with the “God is dead” remark? It’s a figure of speech. Humanists don’t really think he was alive to begin with. Someone also has to remark that he hates the name “Jesus”. So what? Unless you want to raise a Mexican baseball player, you don’t have to name your kids that.

Jesus is my pacemaker. Actually, Mortimer’s being rather vague here. I’d tune him out--he sounds more like a Broadway musical than a savior. “Jesus! He’s got pizzazz and razzmatazz!” “Jesus! A certified bona fide high tide of source of pride!” “Jesus! Don’t miss it!”

It appears the torture wasn‘t very nice, but the spit really bothered Christ. You can hear him saying “Oh! Come on!” Mortimer is kind of a jerk, come to think of it. I mean, if had any ounce of etiquette, what you would say is “You are all going to Hell,”, not “Everyone here”, like in the third person. Get some friggin’ manners. In any case, Brad wants to know what happened. Actually, I sort of wonder--where are Brad’s parents

What happens next? The family may be offended, but danged if they are not intrigued. Sort of how many “Focus on Family” groups will in fact listen to Howard Stern despite being affronted by his sensibilities. The more things change, the more they stay the same. Then Jesus did as only he can do. Which is a lot of tricks--healing lepers, walking on water, turning said water into wine (though, messiah or not, I’d prefer not having any of the stuff you just stepped in, buddy.)

It‘s a Hell party, and everyone‘s invited. Three days straight…damn. That’s a lot of piñatas. If the demons are invisible, why are they drawn as darkened silhouettes? Clearly no light actually is absorbed by or reflects off of them.

Jesus‘s comeback is the talk of the underworld. Hey, J.C. never left in the first place, if you ask me. He just wanted to take some time off to spend with his family--who incidentally is also him. Jesus conquered the Hell out of the grave. It’s not even called the grave anymore, it’s Jesusville.

I have a feeling Brad‘s finding religion is rooted in some kind of pre-existing family issue. it appears he’s less concerned about the welfare of his soul, than the need to get out of his broken home. And let’s face it, there’s nowhere further from home than the Pearly gates themselves. So let’s make this clear. Alice may love money, but not as much as she hates God. There are some things you can’t put a tag on it.

Now another lamb is added to the flock. Poor Brad is feeling the persecution of the most maligned minority of all--Evangelical Christians. You did just say you didn’t want to go anywhere with them. I mean, that’s not how you make friends and influence people you know. Aw, those poor demons are of the clingy type. Obviously they’ve had people repent on them before, and it hurts. If any of this family begs God for forgiveness, they swear, it’ll be the last time they compel someone to sin again.

Well, Brad's damaged goods now. The dude with the backward baseball cap is vowing he shall never, ever, ever get saved. That’s sort of awesome. He can be in a burning building, with a fireman trying to help out. “Go those jaws of life OUTTA MY FACE! I’m not getting saved, not no way, not no how!” The gay dude with the goatee seems to have a shell that masks his insecurity. “Honey, does all this sinning make my butt look fat?” “Just more of you to love, dear.” The invisible demon guy ensures the pointy-nosed lady she doesn’t have o thank God for anything. At least not until Christmas. That “christ” in the word is one tough nut to crack.

So, who made the right decision? One of the sinners gets a feel copped the hell out of him. The really cruel part about Hell is they promise you a party--then cancel it. Feh, what do I care? I don’t get invited to them anyways. So…is the entire family going to Hell at the same time? And Brad is dead now too, I assume? What happened? Did a meteor hit the entire house that exact second? But the important lesson here is folks--the best one at making decisions in any given group is a child who’s easily impressionable and has no active parents whatsoever. Follow his lead.