...it will be Thanksgiving. Which, by the way, is an effed up holiday. Here's what Thanksgiving means to me: A long time ago in like the 1600's or something there were these people who came over to America (which wasn't even America back then) on a ship. They landed in what is now referred to as New England. Plymouth specifically. But the "pilgrims" as they were called, who were English, didn't know what the eff was going on and most of them starved and froze to death the first winter there. Then the kindly natives were like, "These people are harshing our mellow," and taught them to plant crops and hunt and stuff and basically to be useful human beings. So the 50 or so pilgrims who survived this whole ordeal were like, "let's totally celebrate up in here!" and threw a jumpin' party. And by "party" I mean they ate squash. And then later they shot the Native Americans who helped them survive, all in the name of irony I'm sure, and took their land. Because they were better than those savages, dammit.
So, being Americans, we feel a moral obligation to distort the CRAP out of true meanings of holidays. So we made Thanksgiving about eating a wildly gluttonous amount of food and then sleeping and watching football for the rest of the day. Isn't that just the spirit of America? A holiday that celebrates back-stabbery, racism, obesity and laziness. U-S-A! U-S-A!
Maybe my cynicism stems from the fact that I just don't like any holidays. Gatherings stress me out and make me hateful because large groups of people tend to be selfish, loud, and wholly irrational. Also, some members of my family are ridiculous and gross and prolonged exposure causes severe snark on part. I was born cynical and I grew into my sarcasm.
Can I please just run away?
No comments:
Post a Comment