For chumps outside the States, today is Thanksgiving, a holiday commemorating the Pilgrim’s first harvest in the new world. The Pilgrims survived the winter thanks to the Indians, who showed them how to farm crops here. And then the settlers repaid the Indians by decimating their race and herding everyone on to reservations for the next few hundred years.
But let’s not quibble. I’m sure after that first harvest the settlers said to the Indians, “Look, I love you, but I’m not in love with you.” It’s not that kind of brotherhood, Tonto. Succatash is great and all, but I don’t see wigwams in my future. I will always remember how you saved me from starvation by giving me your last bushel of corn… but you’re not the superior race. It’s nothing personal. I hope we can still be friends. You know, the kind of friendship where I trade you some shiny beads for Long Island.
(I can turn anything into an infidelity metaphor. This could be a party trick. At a really sucky party.)
Thanksgiving is usually celebrated by saying what we’re thankful for, so I’ll begin. I’m thankful for such a wonderful community of kick ass survivors. Every day I marvel at the wisdom, compassion, and humor of chumps on this site. Thanks for being here. And thanks for helping other folks who are further behind on the road to Meh. You guys rock.
Now I must leave you to go “baste the beasty” as my grandmother used to say. Happy Thanksgiving!