As we all hunker in our bunkers this year, scarfing down microwaved turkey dinners and staring into the middle distance to Dark Side of the Moon, I thought it would be interesting to look back at Thanksgivings past to get some perspective. COVID has given us plenty of time for reflection, and that’s rarely a good thing.
I think we all have an idea of what Thanksgiving should be. We don’t see it in reality, but it’s there in myths and legends, fed by advertising campaigns and old movies. “Sure, my Thanksgiving is a dumpster fire,” we think, “but somewhere out there people are having a great time and eating noodle salad!”
The fact that other people out there are normal is comforting. It’s kinda like Bigfoot: you never see him yourself, but it feels good to know some grizzled prospector-type guy is out there with a flashlight and his phone looking for him. We want to believe.
Or so we thought. I mean, what inhumanely torturous process turns cranberries into gelatinous slop anyway? Do we really know anything?
Turns out that the Thanksgivings shown in a lot of movies aren’t the romanticized versions from our advertising-addled cranium. In fact, some have a downright horrible lesson, right there in front of us the whole time but we weren’t paying attention.
So crank that guitar rift, sit back and choke down that disgusting jellied cranberry sauce from 2018 as we explore some darker lessons Hollywood has secretly taught us about our favorite turkey day over the past 40 years.
Donald Trump is sitting on a toilet seat in the White House, in the same spot where Abraham Lincoln used to sit.
How he misses his New York penthouse with its golden toilet seat, solid gold 14 karat.
“What a screwed up old dump this place (White House) is,” Trump tells himself. “Lots of old rooms with sh’..ty furniture with floors that creak when you walk on them and paintings of old guys most of them losers (former presidents), except for Andrew Jackson.”
Trump thinks he (Jackson) was cool he wiped out the Cherokees and beat a guy to death on the front lawn of the White House (this last part is historically inaccurate, but Trump doesn’t know American history).
“I’m too good to be living here.”
(Trump has an ever-moist sense of self-pity).
Trump goes to bed alone.
He hears a rattling at the door and sees a light. A ghost enters wearing chains.
“Who the F are you?” Trump says.
“I am the Ghost of Misbehavior Past,” the ghost wails.
“Get the F out of here.”
“Make me,” the ghost wails.
Okay Don, as your unofficial, unauthorized, advisor, I have been thinking of ways we can smear Kamala Harris, to get at Joe Biden. Remember, Biden is too centrist a politician to attack his loyalty, but Kamala……..
That’s another story.
I don’t think we should try another birther scam like the one we pulled on Obama, that’s been done, and if we do that again, we will be accused of not being bright enough to come up with something new and fresh.
It is true that Harris’ mother comes from India, and if she were a man we could try a smear insult epithet on her like calling her “Gunga Din,” you know, that water boy in the 1890 poem by Rudyard Kipling extolling the virtues of British imperialism, the guy who gave his life so that the English could enslave his country.
Oh that’s right Don, you don’t read poems or books, that’s for sissies and women.
Nobody remembers who Gunga Din was anyway.
We can’t call Kamala Harris “Sabu the Elephant Boy,” because again, she’s a woman, Sabu, the kid who rode the elephant in old 1930’s Hollywood movies in his underwear on a back lot near what is today Universal City.
Hey Don, remember when you called Elizabeth Warren “Pocahontas,” because she expressed pride in some Native American Indian heritage? That insult got some laughs from our right-wing followers who enjoy sixth-grade-schoolyard-bully-type insults.
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