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Bloggy Blog #9

Just say no to frozen turkeys. 


Colleagues,
    I write this from a humble abode in the sticks of western North Carolina. Send help. No, it's really not that bad, I swear. But if you want to send help, by all means, make it cash. 

This time of year gets me thinking to the good old days, whatever the hell those were. Thanksgivings of yore. Turkey time in my family was about as mediocre as they come. Not necessarily because of personal family issues, but more so because we had nowhere to fucking eat. I'm not kidding. There are closets wider than the width of our kitchen growing up. Super small. Almost unbearable when the four of us tried to sit at the table, which, by the way, had to be pulled out from the wall so the fourth chair could fit. That's right. And it wasn't even a real dining room table. Might have been a coffee table. Anyway, we'd sit there, eat, and that would be that. Later Thanksgivings, we'd sit in the living room - my sister and I on the floor at the coffee table, my parents using TV trays on the couch - while we watched parts of football games (surely just to appease me) and the local news. Good times. 

So, on this swell day of gorging and imbibing -er, well, tomorrow anyway - be thankful for what you have. And if it's a small kitchen, try and stay the hell out of there. Unless you're doing all of the cooking. 

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