Thanksgiving is upon us, and my friends, there is much to be thankful for. Friends… family… health… and oh — I almost forgot — being the greatest Goddamn nation on the planet!! Sure we have our problems… but some of you out there have started to equate our problems with the notion that ‘America is bad‘. Let me tell you something, pal — loving your country has nothing to do with being satisfied with the status quo. Americans don’t sit still. You don’t like something? Make a change. Write your Congressman. Kill a liberal. Do something — anything — but don’t just sit there on your comfortable leather couch with your lungs full of freedom and have the fucking audacity to bad mouth this great nation of ours. This is America, fuckers. Home of the Turducken.
Oh, you don’t know what a turducken is? What are you, a fucking tofu eating moron?? A turducken is a turkey stuffed with a duck stuffed with a small de-boned chicken… and it is the culinary equivalent of a chick with obscenely large implants riding a Harley Davidson. It’s all American, baby… amen, fuck you, God Bless the USA. Sure, flash-frying a twenty pound turkey would get the job done… but if we were satisfied with ‘enough‘ we’d still be shaving with razors that only have two blades. We’re fucking blessed, and counting our blessings means taking a food coma to the next level of gluttony. I want three kinds — count ’em… one, two, THREE kinds of dead, tasty bird giving me gas for the next two days and gracing my leftover sandwiches with an oversized dose of yellow mustard and three slices of AMERICAN cheese. Hell yeah! Take no prisoners!!
And while we’re at it, what the fuck is up with ‘plain mashed potatoes‘? Ten pounds of spuds with milk and butter and some chives sprinkled on it is for pussies. If ten pounds of potatoes was enough we’d all be speaking German. No, I want TWENTY pounds of raw Idaho goodness, and I want it shot from a Howitzer into 10′ x 10′ mesh made from surgical-grade steel. Leave the skins on, I don’t give a shit… I just want the smoky, savory flavor of gunpowder to compliment my brown gravy made from the spleens of draft-dodgers. Mash them with margarine, you say? Did you just say FUCKING MARGARINE?? Oh, oh… yeah, sure… let’s fucking count calories while our boys are OVERSEAS counting AK-47 rounds flying over their fucking heads. You think they’re counting calories, assholes?? We have a right… no, no… a DUTY to use real fucking butter with enough cholesterol to stop an Olympic athlete’s heart… and if any of you think differently you might as well start learning to wrap a fucking turban…
And… and… what the FUCK is up with cranberry sauce from a can? You think the people crossing the plains in covered wagons just popped open a can and were like, yeah, dinner’s ready?? Those people were imbued with the spirit of Manifest Destiny — the thought that we were empowered by God Himself to settle this great land from sea to shining sea — and you think that ten seconds with a can opener is enough to honor their memory? What the fuck is wrong with you??? I want my cranberries harvested from flooded fields by Navy Seals that kill each individual berry with a KA-BAR field knife. FUCK THOSE CRANBERRIES!! We fucking own the planet and I want to taste the pride of our Special Forces in every succulent, Al-Qaeda-free bite. You can have your fucking virgins, suicide-bombing assholes!! This shit is FUCKING DELICIOUS!!
In all seriousness, though, Happy Thanksgiving… I wish you all the best during this holiday season and, while you’re watching the Cowboys kick the shit out of the Jets, try to remember just how bad-ass our country really is. Count your blessings. For real. And remember just how lucky we are… for we live in America…
Home of the Turducken. Land of the Brave.
Much more to come…
— Bingo