What I usually do is risky: I dress in a turkey costume two or three nights before Thanksgiving, and I break into a turkey farm. Then I read Marx, Engels, Lenin, Trotsky and some Mao to the turkeys, and gradually awaken their class consciousness. Then Sarah McLachlan (also dressed as a turkey) sings to the turkeys about PETA and other animal rights actions on their behalf. The turkeys are unionized two nights before Thanksgiving. Absolutely nothing is achieved by this, though we get drunk in a gutter afterwards. What a waste of time! But one year, guess what? One of the turkeys wrote to me the next January, and sent me a prayer she had penned with duck fat after a narrow escape from the Capitalists. I reprint it here with her permission.
And thanks also, be to God, for it was He, who, in His infinite wisdom, sent the Europeans to what we now know as America, and -- thieves! robbers! -- fucking up the entire continent for the original inhabitants; it must also have been God who permitted the importing of slaves and poisoning this land's already dubious provenance further, down to the present day.
And so it is that today's Americans, uncertain of their identity and (at best) ever-wary of each other, hate themselves secretly and cling to the certainties of greed and extremism. In their haste to find virtue in themselves, they point out endlessly that Thanksgiving is a non-commercial holiday and no presents need be bought or given. But the following day, they more than make up for the brief hiatus in buying, spending, selling, grubbing, for Friday is a vast river of spending, annually.
For such a people, only a truly grotesque parody of a holiday will do: the turkey's ass of Thanksgiving. For such a people, the God in whom they trust is a devil, is a demon, is Mamon. A-men.
Unseason me, you damned picklers.