Happy Day..

On this day in 1814, the Pilgrims came together to celebrate the season's last harvest. In their small community, they set up several tents and prepared a dinner that included venison, onions, corn and lobsters.

While most people believe that the Pilgrims invited the local native Americans to their celebration, it is false. The 'Indians' actually were hired as the 'help'. Their instructions were to serve drinks and refill the butter dishes.

Ok, most of that is not true. They did not eat lobster on the first Thanksgiving. Regardless of what they ate, I thought the best way to honor their celebration was to drink an entire fifth of booze and go shopping at Wal*Mart. My shopping on this grand day would help those poor souls working to realize what a precious day with their families that they had missed.

I make it a strict habit to not drive while drunk, so my plan was to consume the entire fifth of Wild Turkey 101 while walking east on Sherman towards my local Wal*Mart. The weather was surprisingly warm for late November, the afternoon sun was bright when I started my trek and the Wild Turkey 101 booze had been transferred into an empty Arctic Blue Gator-aid bottle so as to not draw attention to my public imbibing.

Wild Turkey 101 is not one of your foo-foo booze brands, it is rough and burns like a mother fucker going down. My wife hates when I drink it because she says that it makes me 'shit house crazy'. But, I truly believed that if my bold Thanksgiving Wal*Mart event was to make a respectful impact with the day's hourly slaves, I would need the brain hammer that is Wild Turkey 101.

I passed the fenced country club and looked for real wild turkeys, but saw none. The hills reminded me that in a more inebriated state that the future return trip will be murder. I pressed on.

The final hill on Sherman was crowned with a McDonalds. At this point in my adventure, it was good time to remember that it was bad thing to forget to empty my bowels before drinking a fifth and venturing out on a long walk. My rules of life include no drinking and driving AND only paying customers get to use the restroom. I was turtle heading so the purchase would have to be made when I was done and my hands were washed.

Yea, I wrecked that joint. The evening before my wife had tried her hand at homemade Indian food and it really wanted to get out of my ass at that very moment. Surprisingly, it smelled the same coming out and I had new appreciation for the hard working men and women who took part in the Exxon Valdez clean up. Because, the poor schmuck who had to wipe the stall down as part of their minimum wage career will come very short in the work done and money made column. Shit was all over.

I cleaned myself up and left my soiled underpants in the restroom trash can. Maybe a selection from the dollar menu would soothe my bubbling nether regions. I got my McDouble to go. I did not want to be there eating when some guy came out of the men's room pointing fingers as to who did what and why there is profanity written in feces above the sink. No sir, my mission was to spend the day at Wal*Mart with Mr. Wild Turkey 101.

The dollar hamburger was tasty and coated my stomach with just enough fat to counteract the burning from the shrinking fifth that was my traveling companion. The Dominos Pizza I passed called out pretty fucking loudly. Nope, I have been dieting for over a year and pizza was a once a year treat that I only enjoyed sober and in New York. It hit me that I was getting hammered. Sloppy Hammered.

Maybe it was the combination of the booze, the walking and the afternoon chill in the air? The sun was beginning to slip behind the tree line and the temperature was dipping south. I thought that something warm in my belly may soak up the booze and make my journey easier, so I slipped passed the automatic doors at my local Plumb's Market.

I have written about Plumb's. They have great meat.

Meat was not on the menu this afternoon. A pack of six fresh baked cinnamon sticky buns from the bakery would do very nicely thank you! The cashier asked if I was 'ok', I said I was. But, I couldn't help but to think if she could tell I was a little tipsy. I knew she couldn't see my Gator-aid bottle half filled with Wild Turkey and I was not doing anything that a sober person would be doing. I was just buying a pack of sticky buns. It was when I had left the supermarket and was in the parking lot that I realized that my fly was open. No big thing except that I had left my soiled underpants in the trash can at the McDonalds. I was not only going commando, I was also trolling for queers with my fly wide open. The little man was out and getting some fresh air.

The mild embarrassment of having my twig and berries on public display was only relieved by the sweet warmth of cinnamon heaven and warm Wild Turkey. it was sheer luck that the cashier didn't call the cops on me.

The warmth only lasted to the parking lot of the bowling alley. The buns were done and I was beginning to sing every show tune from 'Chicago' that I knew. I thought it might be smart to go in and use the bowling alley as a warming station but they looked closed. They were. I guess pin monkeys get Thanksgiving off, go figure. So I continued east past the Wesco gas station.

I didn't make it past the Wesco.

The last thing I remember was trying to help a woman pump gas and then going inside to buy a lottery ticket. I must have passed out just after getting my Power Ball ticket because I woke up an hour ago in the passenger seat of my wife's car in the driveway of our house.

My wife is a fucking saint. She could have left me to freeze but she didn't  She brought me home. And even though I gotta sleep in the back bed room tonight, I love her. Love is what thanksgiving is all about. Love the ones who love you and fuck those idiots who had to work today.