Well, it's Thanksgiving again. Yes, the time of year when we give thanks for all the wonderful shit that we have. This year I am thankful to be rid of the Yaris. Yup, I did it, I finally traded in that emasculating little fucker for a giant, gas-guzzling, unreliable Land Rover — and I couldn't be happier.
This year my mom is probably thankful, too. Thankful for her family that uninvited her to Thanksgiving because she stood up for her gay son. Because, unlike them, she doesn't believe that homosexuality is an addiction — like gambling or alcoholism. She believes it is a normal part of the evolutionary scale, like AIDS or a black president. Liberal. And you know, the more I think about it, I kind of think that gay could actually be an addiction too. I think I literally am addicted to gay. They are right! I mean, I want gay ALWAYS and in LARGE amounts. Once I start gay I can't stop. It affects my career, my choice of friends, my mood, my shoes. I seek it in dark alleys. I would blow someone for gay. Fuck. Paint me pink and douse me in poppers, bitch, 'cause I'm gonna sing me some Cher all night — or at least until these pills wear off!
But really, what a nice lady, my mom. I adore her. But all this good-and-evil-family-drama-hubbub has got the old wheels turning again. Why do all the good people die first and all the shitty people continue to live on and on? Example: my grandmothers. The good one is dead, of course, but the wicked one is doing just fine, more than fine, really. I mean, think about it. Most good people are dead — with a few exceptions.
So, what am I getting at? To live the longest we must be the biggest, most viciously heinous cunts the world has ever seen. We must say and do horrible things constantly. I've already got a head start on the majority of you, which means by the laws of the universe, I will be the one making snide remarks and racist comments during your funeral. You are welcome in advance.
Think about it: Use this holiday to your benefit. Take my timely advice and put it to use on your family and friends this Thanksgiving. You'll thank me when I'm shaking your martini at your 102nd birthday, you wretched cunt-face.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to run over your dog in my giant SUV.