Posts Tagged ‘Thanksgiving’

Happy Thanksgiving folks!

We were going to go to a retaurant for dinner but got invited to a Thanksgiving dinner at the last moment.  The friend of mine up at the UofM.

He felt guilty that he wouldn’t be able to take me to tdo test procedure on Monday because he’d be on travel to San Antonio next week but he’ll be driving me to/from the surgery.  I told him to stop feeling guilty.

Next Monday is the procedure where they pressurize the disc in my neck.  My understanding is that it hurts like he’ll so I am looking forward to it.  It turns out that The Dude can drive me.  So he’ll get some good laughs.

But today, we feast.  Hope you all have a good time with family and friends!

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“Just another bite,” I thought aloud to myself for the benefit of my family.

Surely finishing what was before me was the best honor I could give in thanks for everything those before me have allowed me to have…

But… the body cried out… it screamed “Foul!  Foul, that which once nourished now overwhelms and destroys!  By Othar Tryggvassen, Gentleman Adventurer’s left nut, if you take one more bite, we will all die!”

“I can do this,” I murmured, more to convince myself than anyone around me.

This is bad.  This is so very very grim, but I can do this.

My soul shrieked “Have done with this!  It would be better had you beaten your pancreas to death with your spleen!†”

I chided my insides… Ok, now you’re just exaggerating.

My stomach growled at me, with pure hatred and no supplication.

With an agonized expression I looked at Cruel Wife.  “Huh.  Maybe not… maybe I can’t do this.”

The mashed potatoes had loosed some of their bounty upon my stuffing, which was in turn smothering my turkey.  This would be no mere bite, not even a Herculean bite.  It would be the work of many bites.

“I can’t do this,” I said around a huge mouthful of turkey, stuffing, and potatoes.  A rivulet of butter ran down through my beard, bringing with it promises of a portable snack later, as long as I didn’t wash my face.

Oh geez, I’m doing it.  I’m really doing it now.

My stomach did the only thing it could do, which was to push food through the scanners… errr… my digestive system faster than it could handle otherwise because the protesters… uh… food just kept coming.  And then it blew up.   I rapidly slipped into a coma, and died.

And still, I ate more.

And finished it despite being recently departed.

A feeble croak escaped my lips, piggy-backed on a titanic belch which did nothing to relieve the pressure,”I’m dead… uh… full.”

I got up from the table and staggered the 23 feet to my chair and haven’t moved since.

Mmmm.  That’s good butter.

†The idea of beating anything with your spleen was inspired by “Bolt”, a line from Rhino the Hamster.

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Happy Thanksgiving all.

Doing good here.  Spent the day making focaccia and pizza from scratch (2 ea).  Pepperoni, canadian bacon, mozarella, provolone, jack, and slices of fresh mozarella to really kick it up a few notches.  The focaccia was brushed with olive oil, sprinkled with rosemary, black pepper, garlic, and kosher salt.

My carbs are through the roof.  Cruel Wife also made for Spoiled Girl Child a separate turkey/stuffing batch in the crock-pot and the ungrateful whelp wouldn’t try the stuffing and only ate one piece of turkey.   I shoveled in four cups’ worth of stuffing and stopped – for once I exercised restraint with the wife’s stuffing.

Here I sit, belly distended and the sound of blood pumping in my ears as my finely tuned body attempts to stave off multiple organ failure from fatty cheese, pepperoni, olive oil, and butter.  You could probably fry eggs using my blood as the lion’s share of it consists of saturated fat at the moment.

I realize that it might sound like griping, this discourse, but it isn’t really – it is sheer unadulterated bliss.  If you’re going to die, have a meal like that and then have a bodacious coronary.

Happy Thanksgiving to all and thank you, ‘felix and Enas.


I wonder, being the oldest person in the world (living at the time), how she felt about what she saw in the world around her today.  World’s oldest woman dies at 115 years.  Get this though:

Parker had been a widow since her husband, Earl Parker, died in 1939 of a heart attack. She lived alone in their farmhouse until age 100, when she moved into a son’s home and later to the Shelbyville nursing home

She’d been a widow since NINETEEN THIRTY-NINE.  Holy shittin’ petunias!


Me, I’m thankful that I’m not these idiots.  Getting drunk and having sex with a stranger in the men’s room while your husband is waiting for you at your stadium seats… that’s entering into “loser” territory.  “I was too drunk” is a crappy excuse and if her husband believes her… he’s quite frankly an idiot.

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