At Thanksgiving I usually let some steam whistle through my kettle of disgust regarding the holiday’s shameless celebration of domination culture, but this year I’ll confine myself to remarking that this ubiquitous euphemism “Turkey Day,” though it makes the spinster skin crawl, is at least a step in the right direction towards secularizing these godbag holidays.
I know a couple of turkeys personally. They bear no resemblance to the poor mutant albino carcasses commonly referred to as “turkey” by urban consumers. Why does everybody act like the world will come to a fucking end if they don’t roast one of those things? Who actually even likes eating that shit? This senseless clinging to violent tradition. I ask you.
Meanwhile, Franny got spayed two days ago, and is pitiful. She has already chewed through 2 e-collars. Against all odds, she hasn’t blown out any sutures yet.
In other news, it will amuse the Blametariat to hear that my debit card got hacked by some asshole perv who used it to open not one, not two, but three Internet porn accounts. As anyone who has endured this indignity knows, the aftermath is bloody. For the next three days — not counting the superfatted “Turkey Day,” since nobody answers Internet porn phones when there is excessive gorging to be done — I will be on perma-hold with endless automated customer “service” systems in a maddening attempt to rectify this way-bogus turn of events. I spoke to one human porn site guy who told me I was “paranoid” in thinking some total stranger had nicked my card number. He was positive that if I double-checked the house I would certainly find some pornsick husbands or sons slavering away in the dark.
I’d like to tie that asshole perv’s nuts in a bow.