Those are the first words you’re likely to hear at the mother of all mind fucks — the dreaded annual family get together which unfolds today.
For many families, what begins as a blissful reunion and a genuine celebration of kinship deteriorates into heated arguments, wounded feelings, and solitary post-dinner rants targeted at all the people who said rude things or pissed you off during the previous six hours. Add in those simmering decades-old anxieties, excessive alcohol consumption, and a few losing football bets, and the recipe becomes complete for resentment and misery.
Such affairs require a solid game plan. Here’s a list of the hot topics most likely to come at Thanksgiving Dinner this year, along with my recommendations on what to say versus what not to say:
I don’t have time for small talk.
When you approach me, get straight to the fucking point and wrap it up within a reasonable amount of time. Is that too much to ask? Otherwise, my mind will wander elsewhere and you might as well be talking to a wall.
This goes for every form of communication — telephone conversations, e-mails, texts, and most certainly our face-to-face exchanges. I can chose to ignore your phone chatter and texts if they start to bore me. But direct conversation carries with it a unique obligation to be pertinent and precise. So, do as I say!
What follows is a handy checklist on the ways and means to properly engage me in meaningful conversation. By following these simple rules and guidelines you will significantly improve your chances that I will both listen to what you have to say, and perhaps even care. There’s no guarantee of this, of course. You better shine like the hope diamond. And you’ve got about ten seconds to do it, otherwise my busy mind leaves the station. So, come to me loaded with your best comments and questions and be prepared to fire them at me when I’m ready.
It sure has been a weird couple of weeks.
First, the political party shackled to billionaires, banks, and big business shoplifted won an election fair and square.
Next, despite not doing much actual singing during her horrendous shows and struggling badly to sell tickets, Britney Spears was presented with a key to the city by some local hacks in a bizarre official ceremony in Las Vegas where the presenter forgot to bring along the key.
After that, what remains of Buffalo, New York was hit with so much snowfall that the local residents there are going to be pissing ice cubes at least until next May.
Then most recently, we now find out that America’s “favorite dad,” Bill Cosby is, in fact, a serial rapist who drugged more than a dozen victims.
What next, 80-year-old Charles Manson marrying a seemingly normal 26-year-old pop tart from the Midwest?
I mean, what the fuck?
Warning labels can be found just about everywhere.
Everything from cigarettes, to alcoholic beverages, to casino gambling now has some kind of warning label associated with the activity. Just about everything that we eat and drink, and most of the places we like to go, are potentially dangerous to us.
Of course, citizens have the right to know if something they do is harmful. Most companies don’t want the public to know of the serious dangers often associated with using their products or services. For example, it took many years to finally get the Surgeon General’s warning attached to every pack of cigarettes sold in the United States. Yet even after warning labels were placed on the product, those in charge of tobacco companies continued to deny that smoking was either harmful or addictive.
Let’s talk about how much smarter my cat is than your baby.
According to science, the average feline has the intellectual capacity of a two-year-old toddler. But I contend the typical house cat is much smarter, and far cleaner, and considerably cheaper to raise than a child. Especially if it’s spayed or neutered. The cat, I mean.
Want proof? Let’s compare babies to cats and judge both creatures according to several characteristics.
Here’s my “Cat vs. Baby” scorecard: