Post turkeytude

Fleeing early proved wise. I missed the nasty ice storm and it was all salted away before I got home. I tried my best to spread joy and happiness wherever I traveled. In Wilmot that meant zipping through an awesome $70 Three Floyds assortment (Broo Doo, Dreadnaught, Arctic Panzer Wolf) on Wednesday night with buddy Jon’s daughter Deb. Dancing ensued.

I guess the beer was worth it because normally I would pay $70 to get out of dancing instead of shamelessly enjoying it as I did. Thankfully the local purveyors were open on Thanksgiving morn and I was able to restock (no further dancing as Deb wisely refused to imbibe again after an evening of my trodding on her tootsies).

I also nabbed a ridiculously huge box of tiny chocolate bottles filled with various liqueurs. Popular but less than half were eaten. I think that had something to do with the 23-lb. turkey the six of us had just sat down to.

In the true spirit of Thanksgiving I left the chocolate liqueur bottles with Jon, it being the perfect gift for a diabetic host on a diet and in much the same spirit as the “beef” sticks I forgot to take with me after staying at WINston smITh’s the next night. Awesome beef sticks, btw. I got them from the locker where Jon and I picked up the 23-lb. turkey (I, of course, got to walk him to the car).

I asked one of the butchers (the one with the hump) if they had beer sticks but instead of showing them to me he just said, how much? Easily dared into a purchase I picked up a pound which was then wrapped in a back room and not handed over to me until they had my $7.

I opened the package in the car and Jon immediately suggested I get out which I might have had he not by then been traveling at highway speeds. They were bigger than most beef sticks I’ve seen and the ends were shaped like little raccoon paws. Purple and black with lots of grayish blotches. Needless to say they tasted great just as soon as I was drunk enough to try one. (I suggested to WINston that they feed the leftover stick to the surviving yip dog so that his poops might be long in the land of Milk and Zippy.)

So no, I don’t think political abstinence is mellowing me. I’m simply redirecting my negative energies towards small animals, hospice volunteers and nuns in crosswalks.

I had links but threw them away. Frank Rich, A Tiny Revolution, TBogg and The Daily Glean all had great items making Republicans look like sideshow freaks on reality TV geekathons, but I couldn’t finish reading any of them, not even the one about the local nutcase legislator who was caught wandering around a Planned Parenthood parking lot while packing heat (he said he didn’t realized it was a PP parking lot and that he was only there to stalk a woman he’d had one online date with because he thought she’d lied to him).

Really, just typing that made me feel kind of ill. Same vibes as I got driving through rural Wisconsin where I had to admire all the new flag poles, many of which featured what looked like eagles mating on at the pole base but which at the wrong angles looked testicular. Apt. I could easily see your average Palinista asking the wishes genie for a twelve-foot dick without remembering to specify a proportionate increase in diameter. (I’m not sure what the guys would ask for but I’m sure the punchline would be, “not tonight, I have a backache.”)

But mostly I keep thinking about how I passed out before we got to the Ruination Ale.

Good food, good friends, good times. Hope yours went equally well but if not, well, that’s what relatives are for.

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