Relax. This is not going to be a daily segment. I barely have a thought a week, much less a thought per day. But Thanksgiving travel is underway so we’ve got all hands on deck at Barstool Headquarters. We’re still about 48 hours out from actually breaking bread and I’m already done with this. Thanksgiving is so played out its not even funny. “Oh Thanksgiving is so cool, you get to see all your old friends.” No, dude. No its not. They’re your old friends for a reason. You know how many “old friends” I’ve seen since I got home? Three. Not one conversation got more than two sentences deep before my eyes started scanning the room for the quickest method of suicide. And don’t even come at me with “the night before Thanksgiving is the biggest party night of the year,” thats bullshit. Biggest party night is any night I don’t have to stand at a bar and ask everyone what they have been doing, then awkwardly pretend to care when they answer. I was at JFK on Saturday and I couldn’t even get a hand job from TSA without this George Mureshan looking motherfucker asking me if I’m heading home for the holidays. Jesus Christ, buddy, will you just shut up and see if I’ve got over 3.4 ounces of Pantene Pro-V hidden under my sack. The only good parts about Thanksgiving are football, and when the combination of tryptophan and Sam Adams Winter Lager mercifully says “you’ve put up with this long enough, bud” and put you down for a coma. Watching football and drinking until you pass out happens every weekend for about 6 months, don’t need a special day for it.
So when someone asks me what I’d like at dinner on Thursday, I’m choosing the small pox infected blanket and going to the corner. Because there is no way I’m dealing with this bullshit again.