White Meat. Dark Meat. All Will Be Carved.

So... Thanksgiving. The day when our ancestors would gather and give thanks for a bountiful harvest season, feasting and rejoicing and generally trying very hard to have a good time before football became a real thing.

These days, most of us don't even know what a harvest is, so we tell our clueless children bogus stories about the pilgrims breaking bread with a native tribe in a display of peace and brotherhood. Unfortunately for the native tribes, that "peace and brotherhood" thing didn't last long, did it?

Are the indian tribes seething on their reservations, quietly biding their time until they can exact bloody vengeance on the white devils for their transgressions against the brotherhood of man? I sure hope so.

But that's neither here nor there. This is a post about Thanksgiving, right?

Sitting around a table, surrounded by a bunch of odd strangers you barely tolerate because of your vague shared lineage, stuffing your faces with protein and starches until you can't sit up straight without experiencing abdominal cramps, before passing out in front of the television, which is assaulting your subconscious mind with a series of advertisements thinly disguised as a fucking parade.

OBEY.

After the dust has settled and you gaze at your ruin of a kitchen, cringing as you note the congealed gravy dripping from the ceiling, slowly forming the shape of Fidel Castro's head on the hardwood floor, you mutter to yourself: was it worth it? And the answer is a resounding "NO".

Quietly fomenting revolution amongst the disenfranchised silverware.

As you don your hazmat suit and commence the arduous task of making your home suitable for human dwelling once again, you promise yourself that you'll never make this mistake again. Fuck these people. Somebody else can host the Thanksgiving festivities next year. You make this solemn vow time and time again during your hours spent bent over the sink, scrubbing and rinsing in an endless cycle as you feel your grip on reality slowly fading into the ether.

Sadly, you know deep down that you will break this vow. After all, none of your brainless relatives can cook anything remotely edible to save their lives. That's why they end up at your home every year, laughing a little too heartily, content in the knowledge that when the food is gone, they will clamber into their gently used sedans and follow the rapidly sinking sun to their dingy spider holes, disappearing from your living room like cockroaches after the lights come on, leaving you all alone to shoulder the burden.

Thanks for stopping by, Uncle Bitey!

At least they get one decent meal every year, just enough to keep them alive, hibernating like brown bears until their mucus plugs burst next November, signaling the beginning of the next holiday season when their bellies growl for sustenance. Sustenance that you will provide.

This, Dear Imaginary Reader, is the true meaning of Thanksgiving.

Sure, you could indulge in the festivities like everybody else. Or you could just keep playing The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. I'd stick with the latter. It's the safer bet if you value your mental health.

Genius or suicidal maniac? YOU make the call!

And who cares about turkey? Benjamin Franklin? He's dead! I don't care how many French whores he banged in an effort to prove Colonial superiority over the British Empire, he had a disturbing turkey fetish, and I cannot abide that.

Pilgrims were miserable because they didn't have barbecue.

Can't we just have some nice brisket, the kind that our friends at Fire It Up! Pit Barbecue provide six days a week for amazingly low prices? Sure, that was a shameless plug, but dammit, they have passion! And that passion lies in the meat.

In the interest of entertainment (yeah, right), I have decided not to leave you with my depressing, soul-crushing thoughts on Thanksgiving, but with a pair of visual treats that will hopefully provide you with some small measure of mirth that you can take with you, not just today, but all throughout the year.

First, I present Eli Roth's contribution to the Robert Rodriguez/Quentin Tarantino masterpiece known as Grindhouse, a delightful trailer for a film that we all wish were real: Thanksgiving.




And for my grand finale, a brand-new photoplay from our corporate masters as Fenderman Inc. I know what you're thinking: didn't photoplays fall out of fashion shortly after Al Jolson warbled "You ain't seen nuthin' yet!" in 1927's charmingly racist talkie pioneer The Jazz Singer? Perhaps. But I've never claimed to be a man comfortable with new technology.

Fun fact: I still use a Motorola Razr for my mobile telecommunications needs. Its fragile shell is held together with super glue and faith.

I share with you, ladies and gentlement, a delightful yarn I like to call Meat Lords! It tells the true story of two unemployed young men who decide to go into business for themselves, providing meat for local butchers out of whatever they sight in the crosshairs of their high-powered rifles.

This story is boldly told in the classic photoplay tradition, involving a series of poorly-shot still images integrated with mind-numbingly terrible photoshop manipulation, all set to easily recognizeable rock 'n' roll standards. Why am I subjecting you to this madness? Because I hate you.

But take heart, gentle friends! I am providing you with the short version of this debacle. Indeed, there is a much longer, extremely self-indulgement "director's cut" of Meat Lords! that runs over 6 minutes! Presented below is the slightly more palatable 4 minute version. So apparently I don't hate you that much.



At this point, I suppose I could wish you all a happy Thanksgiving holiday, but we both know that would be nothing more than a hollow platitude. Hell, if you're even reading this blog, chances are you've already given up on any attempt at a meaningful, fulfilling life, much less any hope of a happy Thanksgiving.

Instead, I will leave you with my half-hearted wishes of relatively good health, and I'm crossing my fingers for a lack of turkey-related suicides in your immediate family. That should be good enough.