Giving Thanks In The Age Of Coronavirus

Well it’s Thanksgiving time! It’s such a great day now! Turkey and bread and plenty of stuffing!” – Will Ferrell

There is nothing like the night before Thanksgiving. While Christmas decorations hit stores in late September, and holiday tunes start ringing through the speakers in early November, the season really hits its stride on Blackout Wednesday. That night was my favorite part of the season from high school through my mid twenties. I still enjoy the evening as it heralds the start of a 6 week bacchanal of food, booze, football and gifts, but now that my friends are all married with kids the night tends to be a more subdued affair. My chums claim this is because leaving the table to puke while your mother-in-law passes out sweet potatoes is considered bad form around most Thanksgiving tables.

Time was we would get shithoused in my basement and go to a bar called Rivera’s. Everyone has a hometown bar that they know they can get into without ID, and for us ‘The Biv’ as Rivera’s was known, was it. Unfortunately, the fun was eventually snuffed out. I guess one year while I was away in Oki the bar was raided, some chick tried to hide in the ceiling and wound up falling through some tiles. I believe my buddy also got a drink dumped on his head as long overdue punishment for repeatedly cheating on his high school girlfriend. What would the holidays be without old scores to settle and old flames to rekindle?

There is no doubt some strand in the DNA of man that draws him back into the arms of his hometown sweetheart when the holidays roll around. Perhaps its nostalgia, a yearning for the tender embrace of years gone by. Perhaps, but more likely than not he just wants to bust a steamy load.

One Christmas I was wearing a Santa Claus hat while being felated on my girlfriend’s couch, the door swung open, it was her mother. I yanked my sweatpants up and over my bald, erect penis in the nick of time. It was like a scene out of a raunchy teen comedy from the 1980s — or more contemporarily, a mother-daughter threeway from the trending section of These days if your girlfriend’s mother walks in while she’s blowing you decorum says your gal oughta scooch over and let momma have a taste. Such is the result of a generation raised on streaming HD step-porn. God bless em.

But this was Thanksgiving Eve before coronavirus. Blacking out and making regrettable social choices before going home and raiding the fridge; devouring Thursday’s appetizers like the selfish asshole that I am, setting the stage for a heft a.m. turd, a hangover and a cantankerous mood on our day of thanks.

Thanksgiving Eve was also the night that my buddy was robbed by a group of hookers in Taipei, a story told many times over on my podcast The Savage Sacktap. We were in town for the Thanksgiving 96 and my friend arrived with an appetite for more than turkey. A group of bar girls lured him into a private room with promises of a sexual adventure the likes of which he had never experienced. While they took turns bringing my friend to the heights of ecstasy, the bartender used his credit card to go on a high-end shopping spree. Unaware that he had been robbed, and believing that the team-blowjob was given to him by women driven into the throes of lust by his charm and good looks, my friend returned to the hotel bragging of the evening’s exploits. Quite specifically, he informed the one hooker still in tow that she had just fucked a future U.S. Senator (his political ambitions would fizzle long before reaching the nation’s most deliberative body of government). It wasn’t until he tried to take out cash for a sightseeing trip that a rejected ATM card caused the yarn to unravel and caused me to laugh mightily.

But none of that this year. The bars are all at reduced capacity. The government doesn’t even want people getting together. They’re trying to cancel Thanksgiving. Perhaps it’s all a ruse on the part of Governor Cuomo to avoid spending the holiday with the state trooper that’s been banging his daughter.

I guess we all have to make sacrifices. Honestly, I come from a pretty small family, so this year won’t be too different for us. You know who I really feel bad for though? Incest porn fans. Those guys who waited all year to fly back to Chicago to see the family; including their hot, horny, barely legal third cousins. They’ve been tugging their peckas all lockdown long, dreaming of finally making a move. She’s home from her sophomore year at Michigan where she rushed the slutty sorority. Not only that, but she just broke up with her boyfriend, and is in that phase now where it’s fun to get drunk at family holidays. But our poor incest porn loving friends will be stuck home, excusing themselves to masturbate to the thought of what could have been, as mom bastes the bird one last time and the Lions game approaches the half. I blame the tyrants in our state capitals. Governor Murphy, Governor Cuomo, Governor Newsome their cum is on your hands, hear me now gentlemen, their cum is on your hands.

But at least there’s the feast right? I’m still gonna stuff my goddamn face. We’re doing a huge fish buffet and antipast, and maybe some lasagna and turkey neck soup as an appetizer and then getting into the main course. Going deep fried this year, because in case you didn’t know deep fried turkeys are the fuckin’ bomb.

We had to ban talking politics in my family because my parents watch too much CNN. My mother believes anything that comes out of Anderson Cooper’s mouth and she will stop at nothing to stop the spread of covid. I recently had to take a minute to explain that her plan to surround the Jewish enclaves and covid hotspots of New York and New Jersey with large concrete walls and police patrols so nobody could get in or out, might be frowned upon by the SHOA Foundation, as it was a tactic previously employed by Hitler. My father is the same way with the New York Times. He’s an absolute New York Times cuck. Despite their reputation for having one of the worst editorial slants in the mainstream press, he still believes everything they print. That’s what we’re up against in my family, and that is why my siblings and I put a moratorium on talking politics. It’s a particularly necessary move, because everyone in my family is fucking nuts. It doesn’t take long for us to go from “I disagree slightly” to “look cocksucker, time for you to shut your mouth, and let me speak.”

If not for the lockdown and covid guest limits, I was convinced that this would be the year the term ‘Thanksgiving dinner shooting’ entered the zeitgeist. Between the election, Black Lives Matter, AntiFa, Blue Lives Matter, MAGA, Kamala Harris, Trump, the Epstein homicide, all of that, it just felt like this was going to be the year that gun owning uncles across the country finally snapped and shot their pansexual peanut allergic democratic socialist #BLM ally nephews in the face halfway through a lecture about the imperialist roots of Thanksgiving and the toxic masculinity inherent in the game of American football.

Close your eyes and try to imagine the same; a beer bellied, mustachioed, QAnon readin, MAGA lovin, gun totin, liberal hatin, Murican man who’s been irritated by his little pussy of a nephew for way too long. He gets a few Miller High Lifes deep, heads out to the car, comes back with his trusty .22 and blasts the little shit’s brains out all over the mashed potatoes. Might be that these restrictions are a blessing in disguise, we could all use some time to decompress. Eat some pie, throw some ice cream on top. That’s what I’m doing. Forget about politics. Pie over politics baby. The pussy and the dessert, I love eating both!

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