Thanksgiving War Stories (Not as cool as Dudesters, but still....)

[Writers Bloque]

The Diabolical Thanksgiving Doughnut Debacle.


This happened right after I got my license, but before I got my own car. So let me put this out there.

My mom drove a large Dodge Tradesman 100 van. Green, with only two seats. Yeah. Thing failed anytime you actually needed it to succeed.

Dad drove a blue GMC truck, so this was fall, one week out for Thanksgiving break.

Dad absolutely forbid me from driving any vehicle he holds the title to.

^See The Wagoneer Waylay Incident coming soon.*

I mean I understand why, but there was no way on gods beautiful green Earth would I drive that rolling coffin.


Grandmother's house, the day before Thanksgiving.

Her house was busy and efficient enough to make a beehive jealous.

The life long list of banned people in her kitchen was posted at both entrances to that room.

Writer
Jerry
Thomas
Kevin
Becky
Peter
Jonas

(Becky was banned because she was a rare special case who could burn water to charcoal. She wanted to help, but her help would set back production.)

I know why I was banned.

"Writer, taste a sliver of ham to see if its too dry."

A sliver is not an eighth of the ham.

Ever since then, only gf/wife was allowed in the kitchen as she was trustworthy. Little did they know...

But this morning, dad was with the uncles at my cool uncle's house, getting ready to add fuel to the smokers and go hunting.

Something changed.

Mom walked out of her mother's kitchen and tossed me the keys to the van.

"Writer, its 6:30 in the morning, head to the Kreme to get exactly SIX dozen doughnuts. Not 5, not 7, but 6."

My mom was irritated. She would always become sarcastic and sardonic when she was irritated.

She handed me atm card, when GF ambushed me with some money from her purse.

GF wanted Chocolate milk and Orange Juice, and a cherry pepsi for later.

She gave me the money from her purse too, before vanishing to learn pie crusts from my great grandmother.

Fuck this.

Once someone learned I was making a trip, I was tasked with getting more groceries, drinks, and a slim jim for my great grandmother.

One full list, and full coffer later...

I got into the van, and turned the key.....

it was a miracle, the damned thing started.

Understand this.

My grandmother lived close to the road leading to the back way into Mobile Ala. like her subdivision at the time was the last one before the Lillian Bridge.

Krispy Kreme is exactly almost twenty miles or so from her house. They just opened when I was given the task, instead of going hunting with the male members of the family.

I was just a teenage dirtbag. and public enemy number 1 in the family.

All because I opened a can of worms that sparked an explosive situation two Thanksgivings ago.

"If Aunt Olivia is married to Uncle Fred, why is she making out with her friend and her husband she brought to dinner behind the house?"

Lets say still waters run deep. What I witnessed was something I could not define at the time.

Pretty bold to bring your swinging partners to a family dinner.

Not only did I light the fuse, I piled on more explosives.

So that was why I was stuck in gofer prison.

So back to topic, Krispy Kreme, 20 miles or less from Gma's house.

Grocery store is 5.

Bank mom and dad used with atm 8 miles.

I putted down the road, literally. The engine putted.

I needed gas, as my mom suffered from chronic fuel gauge blindness.

I pulled into Tom Thumb, and that is where the first portent of things to come happened.

My father pulled up with everyone in the Wagoneer, having left his truck at Uncle's house.

"Writer, what the fuck are you doing driving your mother's van around like you own it."

"She sent me on an errand."

"For?"

"Doughnuts and a store run."

"No store is open at seven a.m."

"No lie."

I showed him the hastily scratched out list.

"The fuck is she thinking? We don't have that kind of money."

I shrugged.

"Go to the store, fuck the doughnuts."

"Yes sir."

They fueled up and stocked up, as they were heading to the hunt.

I was at a moral crossroad.

I could listen to the head of my family, and just go get the groceries, but it will cost me my life at the hands of my mom and the women of my family, looking forward to their fried dough treats.

-or-

I could die by my father's hands and get the doughnuts.

Either way I was fucked properly five ways come Sunday.

So sitting at the light, I made my choice. I still stand by it.

The roads were lightly populated, and I made it to the ATM.

Soon I was buying four dozen glazed original doughnuts,

and two dozen assorted, mostly chocolate covered and jelly bellies.

MY money went into doughnut holes and four kreme filled. Couldn't stand the custard filled as it looked like a fresh blast of man cream if eaten wrong and got on your face.

It was hitting time for the stores to open normally, and I went shopping.

I filled everyone's orders, getting girl an issue of Cosmo, because well what we did behind closed doors was not a secret.

The second portent came when I felt that chill. Not the "I am forgetting something" chill, but the "I need to call them because they might need something else."

I call grandma's house, and everything was relaxed. But Mom told me to pick up two of those big jugs of oil.

Dad, who has an Eternal Ban from the kitchen took the phone from mom, who made her displeasure known, told me to go buy at least a case of canned biscuits.

Mom told me when he was gone to do not do that.

Another choice.

I didn't because I only had four dollars left.

Aunt Jean asked me to grab some diapers and mom shouted to get more out of the ATM, cause shes out of diapers for my infant siblings too.

SO

after half an hour of adding to the list I was out of the store.

I had to stop for gas AGAIN, as I was not going to make the trip down 98 to my grandmothers house, as I had to go to different stores and such.

A firetruck burned the road heading down 98.

I fueled up and made haste.

The hellscape I came back too was too much for me, and I sat, engine idling, watching the horror play out.

The uncles and my father had decided to save money on doughnuts, and decided to set up four turkey fryers under the persimmon tree. The tree almost everyone in the family was married under. The one who's fruit was good.

That fall was a dry one.

To keep the doughnuts warm when they were done, someone used a buffet heater thing that uses Sterno.

Not paying attention, goofing off and an unsteady table does not mix.

That year seen the return of a burning tree. Sadly not the first time for someone to nuke a tree. and even sadder it will not be the last time.

The burning Sterno splashed the tree.

The tree caught fire.

The fire could have easily been put out, if not every man losing their collective mind in a mad rush to avoid being blown up, which means knocking hot oil over, to turn off and snatch up propane tanks.

For years that spot in the yard would grow no grass, around a charred tree that the firemen had to go hard on putting out.

I left after the fire was put out.

The men in my family was confined to the chicken cage,  to sit and drink beer.

My grandmother had to be restrained.

My great grandmother was dying of laughter.

Girlfriend was mad at me, as she watched me drive away like I was the one to start the fire.

Mom yelled at me from the front porch.

I returned a few minutes later, to face my execution.

I was forced to sit against the wall. I could only move to go to the restroom. I had to be within eye contact with a woman at all times.

My dad sat in that fenced in pen, eating doughnuts and drinking coffee.

Fortunately, no charges were pressed, and fried turkey could be had by all, except it will be done on grill area my grandfather had made before he passed, which was a brick grill, with nothing flammable anywhere near by.

I got no doughnuts or coffee, or even water for half a day, then they fed me a plain pb sandwich, and gave me a glass of reconstituted milk from powder.

I hate powdered milk. It never tastes like milk again once water is added. Everyone knows this in my family.

That year I pondered how I could escape into the night...

[Writers Bloque]

The Wagoneer Waylay Incident.

The previous year I had passed Driver's ed.

BUT

Being poor was tough.

I had hopes, dreams, and plans.

But I had no vehicle.

Well I did have PARTS of a vehicle because I done messed up that past summer.

I mean I had the car running by this point, and it was going good, but then it was one thing after another, with the final nail being the alternator going out.

Granddad wanted help at the camp, and then we get there, get done and he bails on us, as he had another property in the area to work on.

Me, Dad, my friend, and my little brother, along with GF who would rather pull weeds with me than to sit at home bored.

So my dad shot himself in the foot with what he said next.

"Writer, take us for a ride in the Wagoneer, and maybe I can get my dad to loan it to you until your car is fixed."

I wanted to roll my eyes.

People called my car a rolling junkyard already,

but me showing up in a granny jeep?

Aww, man.

So we all pile in, as my best friends girl (who tagged along with my gf) wanted to watch from the porch.

Let me spell this out:

No paved roads

Mid afternoon.

four nervous people in the car.

AC/DC "Highway to hell" on the radio. (I brought the tape)

It aint easy living free.....

The rules was two laps from the camp to the highway, but not actually going on the highway.

No stop signs

No speed limits

My dad white knuckled the oh shit handle above him when I put it into gear and had to 3 point turn to leave the yard.

But once I hit the dirt, gravel and clay road, all bets were off.

I was curious if this thing was all show, no fire. So I gun it.

30 on the straight away, until my dad told me to turn right before jumping the dirt pile ridge.

So I did not drift. I power slid. Once the 4 wheel drive kicked in, along with traction, I shot down the smaller road, turning left, then seeing the actual highway, I could not stop quick, the brakes were

having emotional issues. So I shot across the highway, nearly getting t-boned by a semi. I turn and pump those fucking brakes like they owed me money as I turned right, crossed the highway to enter

the almost hidden other entrance to the river.swamp area. I had to ramp the dirt piles as they were solid. Got some Okay air, nothing close to the Duke boys though.

So I made it back onto the dirt road and followed the road to the road that cut the slough off from the swamp, took it, and stopped finally before planting the front end into a deep ditch.

Brother exited the vehicle.

Dad is scared and holding back his rage, exits the vehicle

Best friend stays.

GF stays in

We make the last lap, when my dad tells me to park it there, beside the porch.

He took the keys and told me that I will never drive anything he owns.

Granddad who returned to get some tools told my dad to relax, that he was worse than me driving at my age.

Long story short, I took my people on a joyride in a Jeep Wagoneer, and went full stupid.

That is why I was banned from driving anything my father owned. He was one step away from making me pay for my own insurance if the law allowed it (here in FL it doesnt. I lived with him until 19, and was on his insurance until 21, but I paid him my portion of it.)

[Writers Bloque]

The Lost Thanksgiving.


The old shack burned in the early evening cool air.

"Well, Fuck."

"Yeah."

The firetruck finally arrived a little too late. I did not blame them, because the entire family decided to hunker down in the middle of ass nowhere north as all fuck Texas. An important family member was faking her final days because she did not want to travel north or south for Thanksgiving.

The drive down....

It was the first Thanksgiving out of the South for us. We did not have the money to drive all the way back home. But that would not matter, as the four of us was sitting on an Amtrak to Dallas, then hooking up with the relative caravan to parts unknown. (I knew jack shit about Texas at the time, and still do.) I have a ton of family near Waco, since the county is named after a large branch of my father's side of the family. But this convoy was going north.

The train ride was good, the girls slept through most of it, only waking when hungry, bored or needing the potty/to be changed. But getting to Farm #5 was an ordeal when not on a track, and driving something out of hell and a Mad Max travel trailer/RV. Some family decided to loan it to us, but it looked like it would not even leave the parking lot. Following them made me feel like we were doing crimes by just existing and looking like a rolling junkyard.

We make it early, because we were only a mile and a half from the farm, when the RV died. Fortunately we pack and travel light, so it was a nice fall walk down the highway with the double stroller, and me playing pack mule.

However, the RV was supposed to be our quarters for the entire time we stayed. But on the farm there are nice worker's quarters, that are empty, and the old shack. The shack, barely had water and electricity, and was open as no one wanted to live in tetanus and termite city. We did not mind, as the kids would be passed around enough to warrant their own place in the main farmhouse. Me and the wife unpacked as the brunt of the entire families crashed down on this place.

Swamp people, northwestern people, all walks of life turned this 120 acre farm into a post apocalyptic dystopian refuge. I mean certain groups take "Make yourself at home." literally and fully. RV wagon circles, temporary fences built, to separate the families at odds with each other, bon fires lit, and rifles being cleaned. Going hunting with this massive group is interesting at least. If less than three people get hurt somehow, then it was not fun.

At least we got an ATV to travel from the shack, to the main house. The girls were giving hell to anyone who was not momma or daddy trying to entertain them, while relatives were circling around the shack, as it was the property's empty space was filling up, to the point that brave or those what did not mind, were setting up by the cow pond and in the old pastures. I would like to point out that my relatives have built redneck hot tubs and baby boilers (infant tubs, for the kids not crashing in the main house.) It was war, and it was hell. Getting up early, to make sure the ATV was not part of a scheme or stolen, and meeting up with my mom, dad, and siblings, who had a spot in the main house, as my mom was the farm owner's darling first born great niece.

But me, her kid, with kids, and married, had to fend for myself. My wife was a darling too, even offered a room in the main house, with the kids, but me? I was told to eat shit in nicer terms. That part of the family was the ones who opposed my mom and dad getting married. But now....

My wife's family arrives, and it is a beautiful cacophony of passive aggressive bullshit between rich peoples, with the poorer getting the pop corn, literally.

The day before Thanksgiving and all through the farm, not a creature was stirring, cause it would be hunted down and eaten as a snack. Wife and kids were absorbed in the food prep team, and I was told to go find something to do. So I borrowed a close cousin's 4X4, because a neighbor with a large dirt patch, was bored enough to host a Chase. It's basically tag in dirt loving vehicles without running anyone over, I don't remember what its called in Texas, by people with more land than common sense.

I did not participate, as it seemed dumb. I took the 4x4 to town, because the store had Grapico. And I burned rubber down the dirt road, which is cool no matter how you cut it. So after getting supplies for the other relatives, mainly beer, pork rinds and 20 gauge ammo.

Dad was waiting for me, because they finally found something for me to do, which was to help set up the Deep Frying Area. It took less than ten minutes until the propane was flowing and stuff was being deep fried. They kept five fryers clean and open for turkeys.

The rest of the day was spent teaching people how to make county fair style corn dogs. Of all the shit I knew how to do, these good backwoods folks wanted to learn corny dogs from me,

And this was the start of my own personal hell.

Wife and kids were held hostage by her and my family, and she was not allowed to sleep with me in the shack. I started to think they were trying to kill me off, because I was told to use the cow bath if I needed to wash up. Not really a bad time, just strip down, walk into the stall, and wash up, and rinse the soap off, and move to a dry spot to dry and dress. We're all kin here, so it aint like I didn't do notable things when I was too young to know better anyways. I will leave it to your imagination.

We were frying up corn dogs, and serving them up. I of course was an asshole, making Alabama Culture jokes about the prettier members of my almost vast family, when they came up to the booth for a corn dog.

Oh, I failed to mention. All sides of the family who have money like to rub it in the poor families faces. A small carnival was set up a bit away from the property, on some open, unclaimed land, to keep everyone entertained without the use of firearms. Normally the county jail would do the trick, but no one had bail money. It was nothing major, just some rides and games.

The reason I was an asshole is, there are certain branches of my family deep dark forest, that believe I am still a bachelor and only married on paper. And moves were made, and deftly dodged by me, like not bathing alone, so no one gets the idea that I am easy prey.

So I would use media and other things to make my jokes, like one cousin who clearly did not see the ring on my finger, before it would be pawned to keep a roof over my family's head.

"YEW SMELL LIKE THE BOTTOM OF MAMA'S PURSE!"

Well that did not work as she only blushed and asked for another corn dog. I resigned myself to making corn dogs and getting flirted on by BLOOD relatives. Despite being six or seven bumps away in the family forest, still too close for my comfort. The rest of the day and into the night made me depressed, so I took a jar of something that could be used as rocket fuel, and felt my brain die a little.

The actual day of Thanksgiving.

Armed guards everywhere.

I figured some nearby prison was letting some kin out for good behavior to eat with us.

Nope.

They were guards to keep the almost unwashed masses of family out of the house and kitchen area while the ladies and help were busting ass harder than a one dollar whore on payday night. I wanted to see my wife when I had a cowboy repeater rifle pointed at me. I was drawing down on this fucker. He might be my 9th cousin 3 times removed, but no one stops me from seeing my wife. I was wearing my black gallon hat, my boots and spurs, and was given a colt naval .44 revolver, by my great grandmother on my mom's side, who made it clear that she held no love for these heathens.

He drew down on me, and I tried my best Clint impression from "The good, the bad and the ugly."

"Lemme in to see my wife."

"No one is allowed in until supper, you know that Writer."

"I dun care, lemme see my wife, or we can continue this discussion on the way to the pearly gates."

"Don't make me do this, kin."

"We ain't kin, if you plan on keeping me from my woman."

*BANG*

The ground exploded between the two of us, as we have now become the pre dinner entertainment. But the one who fired the shot was my Great Great Aunt, and her old Winchester rifle.

"Writer, you go on and git. She is just fine."

"Billy, you stop drawing down on your kin. Just keep people out."

After that everyone around found other things to do. Me, I decided to go with my dad to play with our guns, shooting cans with everyone else. Once I was out of ammo, I hopped on the ATV, and decided to ride out to help gather firewood for the night, as tomorrow the ladies will be gone the entire day, leaving to get some much needed retail therapy, in the form of deals on Black Friday.

Here comes the hell.

Dinner was done. The picnic tables were set up as far as the eye could see. It was buffet style, as no one dared suggest the ladies serve the tables. The first major injury, that required medical services came from a non too wise cousin "Redneck Suggesting" his wife go on and help serve the meal. The woman since 2 am was up, elbow deep in making pecan pies. She walked over to the bon fire, that was warming the area up a little, grabbed a burning log and proceeded to have a come to Jesus meeting with him, before the prayer of the meal was said, by a pastor in our family, who said the grace.

The ambulance showed up, and someone was kind enough to send a covered plate with him to the ER.

Last I heard of him, he is a changed man, who loves and respects women now.

Mom and Dad secured a table for us and them and even a kids table close by. I don't know what my mom did, but cousins were actually helping look after the children instead of being a mopey group of disinterested teens.

I grabbed two pitchers of tea as my brother and his wife grabbed their own pitcher, before him and a cousin would start to goof off.

My dad graciously accepted a pitcher, despite having two working legs.

Wife took the pitcher away, coming back with another one.

"Cousin Gina fixed the other one."

"Oh."

Cousin Gina, god bless her soul, was a walking Petri dish. This year, she was suffering from Mono. Nope, miss me with that.

Wife and I ate, mom taking the girls from us, to feed and hold, and my dad saying he isn't putting out for any more. Sucks to be him, they went on to have 1 more kid. My mom loved the entire kid process, making them, and raising them.

I filled up, and after having to draw down when getting my desserts plates, because a cousin was trying to reach through me to snag something I had already was moving to my plate. He backed off.

Wife had a small cooler, and was toting a whole pie. No one dared question why, as she was already showing for our third kid. She winked at me, and said to join her were its less crowded.

Things happened as we found room for more pie, with vanilla ice cream and whipped cream.

Things happened on the dock, as people were popping off smuggled fireworks into the early evening air.

Then it happened.

My shack for the holiday caught fire and exploded.


The autopsy of events.

A metal barrel of moonshine spilled near the shack. An accident they claimed, despite a teetotaler cousin who believed even a drop of liquor was the devil's piss.

Used Oils from both the corn dog frying, and a cousin abusing hospitality to change his vehicles oil using the farms supplies. Dumped into the cesspool, under the house.

My uncles storing suspicious boxes with Chinese writing on them. All I could read was Happy Fun Time on the box.

A pile of seasoned and prepared firewood, mistakenly set on fire.

And the final piece, a small gust of wind.

The only loss I suffered was a place to sleep.

I cried.

Dad offered me the truck, and I accepted.

Food was saved, and everyone was having a great time watching my shack die. The firetruck showed up too late, and the structure burned down, with the hoses ready.

Also we lost two cousins, because they wanted to test the theory that Moonshine and No2 could make a side by side faster.

It did Tommy and Glen. It sure did, right up until you and your cousin joined God's Choir as that side by side rocketed, and exploded after hitting a mesquite tree.

And cousin Leo, his wife shot one of his balls clean off, accidentally, he put too much faith in his wife's gun handling and shooting skills.

No, Leo, a can will not stop a bullet from hitting your family jewels. A centimeter up and over to the left or more and he would be "Leo the Eunuch."

That was the Lost Thanksgiving. 

[msslave]

Nobody can do a holiday like Writer's family.

WOO

[Writers Bloque]

Nobody can do a holiday like Writer's family.

WOO

you can have them all. They are heathens. you can have all 400 people in my family. Everyone is coming down to grandma's for the holidays, and I politely uninvited myself. I am not putting up with their shit this year. My mom and dad were the wall protecting us from the storm of the family, and with them gone, I damned sure not risking ulcers this year in dealing with any of them talking shit about my parents.

I might pop by for a plate, but I have no intention of mingling with them, not after the wedding bullshit. If any of them want to see me, they have my address.

[Writers Bloque]

Nobody can do a holiday like Writer's family.

WOO

you can have them all. They are heathens. you can have all 400 people in my family. Everyone is coming down to grandma's for the holidays, and I politely uninvited myself. I am not putting up with their shit this year. My mom and dad were the wall protecting us from the storm of the family, and with them gone, I damned sure not risking ulcers this year in dealing with any of them talking shit about my parents.

I might pop by for a plate, but I have no intention of mingling with them, not after the wedding bullshit. If any of them want to see me, they have my address.

Well that bit me hard on the ass.

Today.

"Mad Dash to Hell, or Can I Legally Divorce My Family."


Everything was fucking groovy this morning. The girls were lightly working in the kitchen, as it turned out Grandma capped the number of people at her house to 30. So now it was going to be 3 houses we were going to have to grace with our presence.

Fine. A quick in and out and I will be home snuggled in my comfy chair to watch the Giants vs Cowboys game with my grapico, and ouzo, along with my take home plate of food.

The girls were all ready to chill, even going as far as to setting up their netflix account for good movies to enjoy in the living room. A peaceful time, right?

Fuck no. Not my family, not ever.

First house was my dad's family, because they do the holiday in style. Turducken. Homemade smoked sausage. Oyster Stuffin. The works.

But was it worth the first of the four major hits to my sanity and patience of the day?

No.

I really liked how they in a completely roundabout way accused me of letting my dad die. As if I was standing at this bedside in the rehab center and smothered him with a pillow. I was so enraged after having to explain to the relatives that did get the call to rush to the facility to say goodbye to dad not knowing how he died, then looking at me and the siblings who showed up as if we intentionally killed him. His liver failed. He had a UTI and Pneumonia. And a severely broken heart.

We made our plates, and left before I really did murder some people. Wife had to pull me into the car when my shit dick cousin on that side called me a "Lowlife F----t" for the way I let my dad die, in the driveway. It took all of the universe to stop me from ramming the beast through the house.

We went to meet up with my daughter and the housemates who went with her at the in-laws.

Not really a bad time. Grabbed food, as I told my mother and father in law that we were not staying, because we wanted to be cozy at home, and her dad actually was happy, because certain people in their family had already eaten their idea of a thanksgiving dinner--A bottle of vodka and a pack of smokes. We made our plates to go, when a drunk old lady I never met before, and wife barely remembers, a living example of why Dementia and Liquor should never mix, walks right up to my wife, and loudly apologizes for my wife's miscarriage. (A very painful memory for my wife. It happened between 3rd and 4th kid.) My wife started shaking angrily, and my wife had to be escorted to the car, leaving me to carry everything, not that I minded.

We leave.

Last stop would be grandmother's house.

Walking up, it was all lively and fun sounding inside. Someone notices us, and then it gets quiet as we enter. Grandmother tried in vain to hide her displeasure.

"Writer, I thought only you were coming to get some food to bring home?"

"Yeah, plans changed."

"And I thought you were going to wait until the dinner was over."

"Your plan, not mine. I wanted to get it out of the way, as the game is about to start."

"Well, we haven't started serving yet. How about you don't miss your game and I will send you some food later?"

"Oh? Am I intruding on a family only moment?"

"Writer, please don't, not now."

"Well excuse me for thinking that I was family just because I share DNA with everyone here. Pardon me, for having such delusions."

Someone coughs. Angry whispers and murmurs rise in volume.

"Writer, why are you like this? Can't we have a nice and normal holiday?"

"Oh what do you mean, Aunt Beatrice? Do you perhaps mean a holiday without me, and my family, me thinks?"

"Come off it you pompous little prick. You know, you were always a little shit. Why do you think you do only get together with us once or twice a year?"

"Because we can't stand you. Not now, and not even when your broke and crazy ass parents were alive. Why can't we have a meal without you and your ilk shitting up the place."

"I see. I am quite sorry that the fact that we had a familial bond brought such disdain from you, Uncle Herman."

"Stop it Writer."

"No, no, I am expressing my thanks, to such a loving and wonderful family, who watched my "Broke and Crazy" parents break themselves trying to help them out, even at a heavy cost. The same kind family who watched them suffer, and stood by like they were strangers. And the same caring family who could not be bothered to attend my mothers funeral, or even call me to offer condolences when my father, the same man that would come to them when their cars broke down, or pick them up to get gas, or even almost breaking his arm to help them board up their houses before a hurricane, died."

"Dammit Writer, just leave."

"Fine. But when I walk out the door, we are no longer family. I will add what you owe my parents to the Probate, and the estate will collect the debt. Goodbye."

I left, not knowing if I could even do that, but still, I did not give a fuck, and left with a whole ham.

In the car, me and wife had to pull over and rage out. It looked like to passing motorists that we were pissed off at a broke down vehicle. After two offers of assistance and a state trooper's check, we left.

Five minutes on the clock after we raged out, Aunt Lush calls.

"It is almost dinner time here, where are you?"

"I did not know we were invited."

"Well duh, who else is going to bring the wine and rolls?"

--Click---

I made the command decision to just go home. We had enough to eat for at least tonight and leftovers for tomorrow. I had fucking enough.

I walked in, unplugged the house phone, and we all turned our cell phones off, and I cracked open a bottle of wine to share with the people who truly mattered to me, and not to get them drunk, and we ate. They are currently picking their teeth, watching Magic Mike XL and I am currently enjoying the Cowboys winning their game, while sipping my Ouzo.

Sorry to dump this on you all.

But from the bottom of my heart, Happy Thanksgiving, as I count everyone on KB as people who matter to me.

[msslave]

Glad you got through the holiday without killing anyone

[Writers Bloque]

Glad you got through the holiday without killing anyone

Why would I give them an easy out? I mean they are not exactly close to me so not wanting to see them ever again is no skin off my back.

As I say, Why fight for the rope that you will hang yourself with? They don't like me or my family, and besides, Uncle Herman and Aunt Beatrice are not exactly as elite and upper class that they think they are, you know being the parents of the asshat cousin who tried to involve me in his legal troubles.

Apparently, what I was supposed to do was be a good little scapegoat, that would take all the trouble, go to prison for him, while they keep doing the shady shit that they do, rinse and repeat everytime he gets caught. Since, its clear that I am worthless, and their son can do no wrong. Its my obligation and should be my honor to take the charges. I hope they fucking bury him under he prison and build a new cell block on top of him.

I always asked my dad why did he help them, knowing they have no respect for him and treat him horribly. He replied:

"You have no choice who you are related to. Be it by blood or marriage. But while you are free to like or dislike them, you still have to love them. And I choose to keep quiet and help out, because its not me Karma will drop a fuck ton of problems on. One day the whole lot of them will get theirs and whats coming to them. I just keep my mouth shut because I do not want to be caught up in it, when the hammer falls and the other shoe drops."

Besides, they really have bad memories. I cosigned mortgage loans for their spoiled rotten kids, as a way to repay some debts I owed them, since they chosen to use the same lender as I did.

I wonder what would happen if I suddenly felt miserly and wanted to withdraw my signature.

Anyone know, as I let these wickedly angry thoughts flow from me?

But on a positive note. Great aunt came over with a metric fuckton of gourmet Thanksgiving left overs.

She suddenly did not feel hunger after my exchange and promptly left before she passed out her little gifts she brings everyone when she comes down.

So she took Amy to the Thanksgiving dinner at the Yacht Club she is a long standing member of.

She knocked on the door, and her two servants she brought started to unload the car, as she handed me an envelope, and kissed my cheek as she returned to the car.

The note inside that held a grand in crisp new one hundred dollar bills said:

"Writer, there is always a line that must never be crossed, no matter how mad family makes you. BUT sometimes it just feels too damned good to cross it."

"Love, Great Aunt"

If we were not blood related, and as old as she is, I would have kissed her right there. She is a sly and crafty woman, and shrewd, but money did not steal her quick wit and patience.

You don't get to have "Fuck you and the horse you rode in on" kind of money without being like her I believe.

So many people at that party wanted money from her, and she just left them to eat at a Yacht club. That made me laugh today as I work around the house, to shake myself awake from almost passing into a food coma.

[staci]

Writer.

Do any of them wear shoes???

[Writers Bloque]

Writer.

Do any of them wear shoes???

Yeah, unfortunately, they never had to eat the bitter fruit of having to fight tooth and nail for survival. Mommy and Daddy would swoop down to save them with their wallets. I doubt they would even recognize hard times. The only hard time they have had to go through is having their Prada and Gucci delivered to their house, instead of it being in stock in the store. Uncle Herman was sporting the latest Rolex, while I wore my dad's Citizen Blue Angels watch I bought him for father's day after the saleswoman seduced me with her cleavage and charm. Damn thing now is worth about five hundred dollars, and it is the most valuable thing that I own that cannot be eaten or drunk.

Gotta understand their history.

That part of the family came from the snobby off shoot of the family that left Defuniak Springs. Between mining and logging, the family was well off, then married into more money post WW2. They decided that they would never be poor again, and ran with it. Great Aunt, I believe is the richest, not just in money, but common sense. She only made investments that would sustain, and only spent her money when needed.