Well Datalounge, Thanksgiving Is Nearly Upon Us!! Time for our annual thread.

I'm your drunk uncle. I will be on my fourth neat scotch before the hors d'oeuvre trays are half-empty and by the time the pies are presented with a flourish, I'll be passed out on the sofa in front of the game, one hand down the front of my pants.

I'm the "friend of" guest. The one who has no family or partner. I will be on my best behavior, talking to the older folks and playing with the kids. Then I will go home with a container of left overs which I will dump. A couple of bottles are waiting for me.

I am the senile 86 y/o great aunt who continually asks "So...when are you going to find a NICE girl?" She asks this several times even as my partner is sitting next to me,holding my hand.

I'm your sensitive Auntie Marie. I don't drink but I'm very sensitive. I do so much for everybody. Why am I not appreciated? I can tell you think the dish I prepared last year was better than this year's. I'll hang on as long as I can but I'll eventually make a dramatic exit in tears with the dish I brought covered in Saran wrap... turning for a moment at the front door to look back so you can see the tears in my eyes.

I'm the tweeny-bopper who sulks because I'm stuck at the kiddie table again. I'm a GROWN UP NOW DAMN IT! I say I want adult conversation but I really just want to listen to all the family dirt being spilled at the grown up table.

I'm copies of A CHRISTMAS STORY, THE WIZARD OF OZ and ELF that you will pop in the DVD player in the den to entertain the kids while the adults enjoy their adult beverages and conversation in the living room.

I'm the pinner joint passed around the Dodge Neon at the end of the drive. Yeah, it's the same group every year - just 30 years older, flabbier with unfortunate tattoos and suspicious-looking cold sores.

[quote]A couple of bottles are waiting for me.

Enjoy your bottles, R2. You've earned them. There's NOTHING worse than being held captive at other people's family gatherings.

I'm Italian American Uncle George - how the hell are ya? Come on in. The pit boss at Harrahs compted me two tickets last week to see Frank. Don't tell Josie, but there was this little blonde waitress.. ha ha ha..eh guys? eh? ha ha Another Scotch?

I'm the gay guy at the office party with tons of gossip for everyone!

I'm the horrified hostess who's vibrator unfortunately slips out from under the bed and is discovered by one of the younger guests.

I'm the vain grandpa who has refused again to get the hearing aid I've been told I need for the past 5 years. I will eventually get angry and accuse everyone at the table of mumbling.

I'm the chubby, lonely tween who sneaks back to shovel in more dessert when I think no one is looking.

I am the dish that was purchased pre-cooked at the local supermarket, then put in a "nice" serving dish. Hopefully, nobody will notice. Actually, they DO notice, but politely say nothing. I miss the knowing looks and smirks behind my back.

I'm your sister's (the veterinarian and host) enormous Great Dane whose favorite "trick" is to casually pull things off the dining table when he thinks no one is looking (and because he's so big he can rest his head on the table while standing on all fours)

I'm the manipulative mentally 'off' sister, unbathed and wearing Smurf colored stretch pants. I only drink chocolate milk that I've stirred so much that the spoon against the glass has driven everybody out of the room...and will only drink it with a straw with a bend in it. I won't eat turkey because I don't like anything on my plate pre-cut and I'm so addicted to HFCS that I slather everything in ketchup.

I've been bothering everyone with access to a car to drive me to the drugstore because I want a certain color of Kleenex, and then I'll manipulate a drive to McDonalds for shit food, and another stop at the market for candy snacks.

I'm the mini-marshmallows in the casserole dish of "Ambrosia" your great-aunt Sally has brought every year since she clipped the recipe from Family Circle in 1975.

I'm GLUTEN and I'm EVERYWHERE bitches!

I'm the dirty laundry piling up all over the place.

I'm the 12-year-old kid trying to get his aunt's new 14-year-old stepson alone in the basement.

I'm me and I'll be sitting home watching netflix while my husband drives 95 miles to Queens to pick up the 80+ year old parents and the mentally ill son. They all smell horrible because the mentally ill son smokes 20 hours a day. The parents yell the whole time they are in the car because....well, that's how they talk. It's not age. They've been yelling their whole lives, in order to talk over other people.

Hubby will then drive another hundred or so miles down into the bowels of NJ to go to the McMansion of his crass, loud, profane, ugly, nouveau riche cousin. The whole of hubby's yelling, screeching family will be there, yelling and screeching, and at least three gigantic autistic rescue dogs will be meandering around bumping into elderly people and nearly knocking them off their feet. Hubby and family talk so much that he must stay overnight, when he finally exhausts his jaw from constantly gabbing.

Ah, poor me!

I'm your 40-something older brother about to embark on his 3rd marriage who has no savings, a shitty job, no house and does jack shit to help your elderly parents, but they enable his ineptness.

I'm the fight that inevitably breaks out among the siblings. And of course Mom always tries to break it up and have everyone make up nice until next year.

I am the cousin that must show you my new Rolex watch and how much it costs, also had to mention ran into Mr. So/So, my financial guru, mentioned municipal bonds are tax exempt, I will not eat anything unless someone gets me a cup of coffee.

I am the 11 year old grandson who is having too good of a time setting the table with the best dishes and making colorful place tags. After dinner I will help the women in the kitchen. I have no interest in the football games playing in the family room.

I'm the vulgarian

I am the fiancee of the 25-year old son/nephew/grandson. This is the first time that I will meet my fiance's extended family. By the end of the evening, I will sincerely question whether I really want to marry into this family

I'm the toothbrush in the upstairs bathroom. I'll be used after the bulimic teen barfs up her entire dinner. I have a short, horrific life.

I am the adult daughter of your host and hostess. I teach kindergarten. I will insist that we all sing "We gather together to ask together to ask the Lord's blessing...."

I will also insist that all the guests list at least one thing for which they are thankful for ...

I'm the festive Christmas lights decorating the front yard to greet family as they come to dinner.

I am the harried hostess. My teenaged son worked at the grocery store today from 7 a.m. to 4 p.m. My son-in-law, the police officer, may or may not show up; he will be directing traffic going in and out of the regional mall nearby. Speaking of the mall, my daughter-in-law who is an assistant manager at the one of the department stores will have to be at work at 8 p.m.

I really want the family to eat together, but maybe not this year

[quote]I'm the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, giving all America a preview of just how low the Great White Way has sunk this season.

LOL I love you! And your comment is spot on!

Your life sucks, r37.

I'm the probably-abused emo teenage son of your hosts, who is thinking about how to bust into his Dad's gun cabinet and murder his parents in their bed, by shooting them in the fuck-organs they've used to degrade me since I was four.

I'm the modern gay who has "been there, done that" for all the stuff in posts 1-40. I now go on a cruise every year to avoid all that Turkey Day stuff. Much more relaxing.

I'm the earrings

And the caftans!!

I am the newly-divorced colleague of the host. The host says and his wife don't want me to be alone for the holiday so they asked me to come to their place for dinner. Actually, I am there to be fixed up with the host's widowed sister-in-law

I'm the sister-in-law who has brought a half-dozen small plastic containers of gluten-free, peanut-free vegan delicacies for Maddison and Logan and me because I could never trust my mother-in-law to provide anything adequate. When her son (my husband) indulges in her turkey and trimmings, I simmer with quiet rage.

I'm the most popular girl in high school, now on her third husband. I run a hair salon in town. You will run into me at the local wine shop and we'll make small talk. I will be a bit chunky with bad highlights, and I'll know all the gossip on EVERYONE from the Class of 1990.

I am the niece who want to make parter at the white shoe law firm where she works. I will leave 30 minutes after coffee is served to go back to the office and work on a deposition that is due first thing Monday moring.

I'm the mother-in-law of R46. When that skinny bitch isn't looking, I give my grandchildren Reese's peanut butter cups.

I'm to doors of the local mall. Every strut and bolt of my frame quivers in anticipation of the overwrought, overweight, and overdressed hordes about to crash through me.

Bonus: I'm the unfortunate soul who invariably falls during the initial opening rush and is quickly trampled by the mob. My plight will go viral and will prompt equal doses of sympathy and delight.

These threads never fail to delight.

I am the niece who did make partner at the white shoe law firm.

I don't cook, I keep my sweaters in the oven in my kitchen.

Yesterday, the flower shop delivered to my hostess the floral centerpiece that I ordered. Today, I will show up with an extra large pumpkin cheesecake from Cheesecake Factory and a couple of bottles of white wine (I think you serve white wine with turkey, don't you>)

I'm the bottle of port you've hidden in the 'fridge and secretly take a huge swig of every time to "run to the kitchen for more mashed potatoes" or gravy.

I am you BFF today.

I'm your slightly tipsy mother, who takes you aside to confess that your father is "losing it" and "hasn't been the same since retirement."

I am the sister/sister-in-law who is the mother of five. To make ends meet, I went back to work at Denny's (despite graduating college with an English degree magna cum laude).

I will show up with a carrot souffle. I am just Thankful that someone else is cooking and serving and cleaning up

I'm your childhood home, decorated for the holidays. Your bedroom has been left just as it was in 1993, plastered with Nirvana and Pearl Jam posters. Maybe your bong is still under the bed, too...

I am the aunt who is the peacemaker. i will attempt to keep my brother, a supporter of Rick Santorum, and my niece, who supports Dennis Kucinich, separate. I don't what any arguments around the dinner table.

What I don't know is that my niece and my brother hold each other in respect (but neither would ever admit it)

I'm your older cousin who let you suck his cock a couple of years ago. Since then, you have come to realise what a prick he really is. Unfortunately, he has threatened to tell your fundy parents that you are gay if you don't repeat the performance.

I'm the new daughter-in-law who's been shamed into hosting the dinner this year by her mother-in-law's snide comments about how she managed to cook Thanksgiving every year while having three toddlers in diapers.

I'm the second wife of a man in his 40's who never contacts his family willingly and despises the holidays. I don't know any of the family politics or secrets and the women are whispering around me, but ignoring me. They are saying how much they loved the first wife and that it's MY fault he doesn't see them more often.

I'm your partners closeted dad. I will look at your bulge and every other bulge at the table, all while my wife turns a side eye and whispers to her sister that she can't wait till I die.

I'm the money your klepto niece stole from your jacket's pocket while you were having dinner.

I'm your local bar, and Wednesday night I host the best part of Thanksgiving. I am busy as hell with so many people fleeing family drama so get here early if you want a seat.

I am the gas churning in your colon, ready to blast out noisily when you least expect it.

I'm your mom who told you not to bring anything because she's providing the entire menu. Hope you like Stoeffer's frozen lasagna and a burnt Mrs. Smith's pumpkin pie. True story.

I am the fundie family of indeterminate relation who sit with precious Josiah, Jebediah and Malachi all day as they watch TV Land, making sure the kids know that the 50-year-old Western they're watching is fictitious, lest the sound of Lorne Green's pistol scare them into wetting themselves. That this keeps me so busy that I am unable to help in the kitchen is purely coincidental.

I'm the fat old lady manning the kitchen and proudly boasting to the younger ladies that they wish they could suck a cock the way I can.

You're a RIOT, R70.

I am Nana's antique linen tablecloth and napkins, presented to my sister-in-law by my mother after last year's Thanksgiving table was set without a tablecloth. I will grace the table this year, but will end up in the garbage after everyone has left and causing a blowout fight between my brother and his wife.

I'm the family fuck-up with drug and alcohol issues. I've brought my white trash girlfriend and her snot-nosed, obese children with me this year. While the brats are busy sticking their filthy fingers in everything on the table, my GF and I will mysteriously be absent. We'll be in the downstairs family room doing lines and looking for items to pawn.

I'm the neatly shaved snatch at the table

I'm the Chinese restaurant you call for Thanksgiving Dinner.

I am the first pitcher of Bloody Mary's, making my appearance at 9 am on Thanksgiving. I will have a starring role each morning until guests depart on Sunday.

I'm the louche, fashionable cousin who had been to rehab in the last half year. Somehow, I'm slated to get a whole lot more than you when people start dying. I pretend not to know how much this bothers you.

I'm the only coffee shop open in a ten-mile radius. My phone will ring off the hook with calls of "are you open?"

I'm the older unmarried female friend who begs off at the last minute with a migraine. You feel sorry that I'm all alone on Thanksgiving but I feel a huge sigh of relief, surrounded by cartons of my favorite foods from Whole Foods. I hated my family and I'm not too crazy about anyone else's.

I'm the family hate and resentment.

I'm the pale woman at the checkout in the drugstore. You don't know whether to wish me a Happy Thanksgiving and possibly remind me that I'm alone or to skip the wish altogether and possibly remind me that there aren't any decent humans left.

I am the box of wine hidden behind the stack of old National Geographics in the garage. I will be surreptitiously slurped from the spout as I cook a nice meal for you ingrates then clean up everything afterwards, since apparently I am the only one who knows how...

Oh, and I asked you to bring ONE thing---just ONE thing: the rolls. And you forgot...AGAIN! Every year it's the same thing. Why do I even bother?

I'm the witches who cackle with delight

I'm the cancelled Thanksgiving because Dad is dying and in hospice. The family is steeped in drama over misunderstandings and old resentments. The drama will not end when Dad dies.

I am the foreign exchange student from India or China who is studying physics in Oklahoma. I brought a either box of candy or a knick knack from my home country as a gift to the hostess. I will be asked at the dinner table if Thanksgiving is celebrated in India or China. Other that I will be ignored and politely smile at all the people conversing without fully tracking what they are saying. Other than the pumpkin pie, I will find the food bland and vaguely horrifying, but will I say how much I am enjoying my first Thanksgiving when asked over and over again.

I will leave early and exhausted and go home to work on my dissertation while I sip tea resolutely.

I am the female cousin who, all throughout her early 20's on up through her 40's, mysteriously disappears into the bathroom after each gigantic plate of food. Everyone laughs at me and thinks I am funny for taking a dump after each plate, but in reality I am purging it into the toilet. I don't care that my elderly aunt, who happens to be an excellent cook, slaved over this meal. I will just puke it up.

I am the female cousin's father. I rant and rave about politics and environmentalists. I brought a special friend with me this year. A boy of only 10 years old and no relation to my family. We go hunting and fishing together. My sons don't understand our special relationship and give me looks of jealousy because I don't take them "hunting".

I am the 10 year old who was brought to dinner back in 1996. It is now 2013 and I am a grown man. I recently confided in the "female cousin" that I was sexually molested by her dad for years.

I am the sheriff's deputy who recently found the old guy murdered at his doorstep with his head blown off.

True fucking story.

OP writes,

[quote]I'm your pompous brother who makes more in a year than....

And saves no more than 5 percent of it annually.

I'm the inevitable story in the news the day after Thanksgiving - the one about a relative who snapped after years of being ragged on and stabs or shoots everybody at the table.

[all posts by tedious, racist idiot removed.]

I am the 13 fucking cats your 80 year old mother is hoarding in her apartment. She insists she has only 9 but your count and the way the stench flavors the food say 13.

[quote] r61 I'm your older cousin who let you suck his cock a couple of years ago. Since then, you have come to realise what a prick he really is. Unfortunately, he has threatened to tell your fundy parents that you are gay if you don't repeat the performance.

I'm the secret, sleazy, unmentionable thrill you still get from going down on him.

I'm the lime green jello no one eats.

Jeebus, r87!

Okay, so I'm like the 20 year old hottie? And I'm like in my 3rd year at State College? So I'm like spending the whole dinner texting and stuff? it's so really cool. I think like my grandma is here and stuff.

R87 . So are you the female cousin AND the sheriff's deputy?

I’m the holiday festivities at your gay uncle’s house – I’ve been here ever since the (alcoholic) Baptist faction of your family tried to ban liquor at family functions a few years back.

I am perfect in every way, the house is perfect, the decorations are perfect, the table looks like a magazine photo, the meal is gourmet, and the Baptists (who are boycotting the sinner yet again, but curiously always manage to show up for free food) seethe in the corner with righteous zeal.

The tipsy Matriarch of the family (who just LOVES her gay grandbaby and is leaving him her prized wedding china) tells lurid stories to your uncle’s partner about Aunt Baptist No. 1, and what a big slut she was in high school.

Everyone has heard those stories every year, but Grandma enjoys telling them so, ever since Aunt Baptist No. 1 tried to put her in a rest home.

Your Gay Uncle is also getting Grandma’s big house. Don’t tell anyone.

R96...neither. I am a female cousin OF the "female cousin" in the story...but at the time I was a young girl and she was much older than me.

Funny thing about it was...I was just a few years older than the "10 year old boy" and I was telling everyone at the time that I believed my uncle was molesting this kid. My family is quite backwards and it just didn't "click" with them that it was grooming behavior. Fast forward years later and it all came out. The murder of the uncle is still unsolved, but this kid was the #1 suspect for a long time. Luckily this part of the family hasn't been to thanksgiving dinner for years and I haven't seen them in a long time.

I am a comfy argyle sweater, a pair of soft corduroys, and frayed LL Bean slippers. I have been worn by your father since Thanksgiving 1982.

I'm the convicted rapist

I'm the vicious face-slappings

I am the family dog, being taken for yet ANOTHER walk by yet ANOTHER family member who uses me to escape the drama, trauma, and melodrama of these gatherings.

I am very tired.

I am the guest (have been for the past 5 yrs) who relates the same stories each year. I wonder why no one laughs at the hilarious stories, everyone looks stone-faced, probably a reaction to the food being served.

I'm the football games your father, brother, brother-in-law and nephew watch all day, and you try your best to ignore.

Much of this thread is spot-on.

It's almost Dickensian... The Ghost of Thanksgivings Past.

The hottie must also be a 20 year old smarty if she's in her 3rd year of college.

I'm the local ABS. All those dads, brothers, uncles and cousins who run out for ice, cigs or the whipped cream SOMEbody forgot to buy? They always come back empty-handed, but with a big smile on their faces, and something sticky, gluey on the bottoms of their shoes.

I'm the sister-in-law who's pouting because of all this time wasted when she'd rather be planning her assault on Black Friday.

I am the earnest soup kitchen holiday volunteer wagging my finger at the foodwasters.

I'm your uncle's fifth wife. I just sit on my massive ass and never help out my husband's elderly mom who is slaving away at the stove.

I'm the local grocery store in the shitty small town where your family's dinner is held. I am always out of stock of the things people need at the last minute, like heavy whipping cream, Rediwhip, and butter.

I'm the chubby aunt with the sunny disposition who marvels at everyone's weight upon greeting them. "Aww, you sure put on some pounds this year, sugar."

I am the office frau who sends a Happy Thanksgiving!! mass text to all her gals and pals at the crack of dawn.

I'm your friendless-for-good-reason sister with Aspergers, who will school a person she's just met that their belief in mermaids must be CORRECTED, and your day is spent just sitting in terror and cringing for the next loud, rude, inappropriate or embarrassing sentence to bray out of her bitter divorcee mouth, and humiliate you just knowing she's your sister.

Let's try this again.

Gobble Gobble! With Love, Patty, Mark, & twins Dylan and Dina.

I'm the rack of Thanksgiving greetings cards at the local CVS. I wonder who actually buys these things.

I am the unseasonably warm weather that always seems to hit on the day your oven and stove is firing on all cylinders.

I'm the snotty nosed tot who knows how to navigate Iphone and Ipad games better than you can.

I'm the kid's table.

I'm the pretentious show-off pre-dinner prayer said by the insufferable 9-year-old niece who is assured daily she is the cutest thing since puppies by her helicopter parents.

I'm the small town gossip your sisters and mother love sharing with you over copious glasses of wine when you visit.

You sop up each story of lies, infidelity, and shame like a biscuit in gravy. They are delicious reminders of why you left this shithole town at 19.

I'm pot brownies, and I make everything about this day mellow and wonderful.

I'm a Thanksgiving sweater with autumn leaves, pumpkins, and turkey appliqués. My owner has already taken me out of a drawer and laid me out on a spare bed so I'll be good and ready for my big day.

R116, an Avanti Thanksgiving card featuring dressed-up animals is a joy to give & receive!

I'm your childhood home, a lovely red brick Colonial in a leafy neighborhood. Your parents bought me for 30k in 1975, and I am now worth close to a million. You could never afford me. But you're welcome to stay the weekend.

I am various, assorted babies rolling around on the floor of the TV room. The floor is covered with "Hello Kitty" and "Toy Story' blankies. Our moms will screech at Uncle Dave " YOU ALMOST STEPPED ON M'KAAAAAAYYYYYYLLLLLAAAAAA!"

I am Uncle Dave. Fuck your babies. It's time for the Cowboys game. I'm going to drink waaaaaay too much Bud Light and scratch my balls. Oh, can one of you go get me a piece of pumpkin pie? Sure, I'll keep an eye on Jayden. I'll also give him a sip of my beer when you're not looking.

I'm the old guy who is the only one at the family gathering without his son there because he won't allow the son's boyfriend to attend.

[all posts by tedious, racist idiot removed.]

I'm the 16 y/o who just got his license and will drive myself to Thanksgiving dinner... because I need to smoke some good weed before I can deal with you fuckers.

[quote]The hottie must also be a 20 year old smarty if she's in her 3rd year of college

OMG! That's so funny, so maybe I'm like in my first year? Anyhow it's like a rilly long time, so okay?

I'm the enormous pile of Black Friday newspaper circulars that I feel obligated to go through and that make me anxiety-filled that I will never see better prices again.

I'm the neurotic sister who makes a gargantuan bowl of "Tequila-berry " salad and drowns it with three bottles of dressing. After getting a third "no" when she asks if there's too much dressing someone finally says "yeah, there may be a little excess dressing but it's still great", said sister bursts into tears and runs out of the house expecting someone to come running after her. After being calmed down she promises to put less dressing on it next year.

I'm David Byrne

I'm the ipad that is trained onto the DL as a respite for my owner throughout this goddamned holiday.

I'm the deeply closeted aunt who will be coming to dinner from the golf course and will spend the day talking about Jesus and praying everything.

I'm the anal sex

I'm the solitude of the adult male who said fuck no, never again to these ugly, sad rituals, the rituals of people who have outgrown each other, don't know how to make new friends, miserly people who can't cook. I am still, quiet, veiled with swaths of pot smoke and the sound of interesting, treasured movies in the background. I am a welcoming cocoon offering peace, recovery and shocking growth of spirit.

I am the 12 year old cat adopted a few months ago who is slowly regaining strength and health. I am salivating from the delicious smells coming from the room where the food comes from. I will keep going in there and keep getting shooed away. I will finally be found hiding under the bed when the house starts filling up with loud people. I will be so happy when they leave and my pal fixes me a plate of turkey, gravy and string beans.

I'm the tired, dusty paper turkey decorations that have been pulled out annually and put on the table since 1966 by your Depression-Era-raised Granny. I am faded and longing to be put to rest in the recycling bin.

I'm the first boyfriend your 20-year-old niece has brought to Thanksgiving dinner. I stare at my plate, blush and mumble incoherently when anyone tries to engage me in conversation.

I'm the 15-year old moody teen girl, ripping her cuticles to bloody shreds under the dining room table when her uncle appears.

[all posts by tedious, racist idiot removed.]

I'm the exchange student from India. My caste does not eat meat so my hostess has left the turkey off my plate. She has smothered my potatoes (I pronounce it poe-tah-toes) and vegetables (I pronounce it weg-et-ib-bulls) with turkey fat-laden gravy. I want to vomit and cry and perhaps set her on fire.

I am the dads the day after Thanksgiving. We couldn't give a shit about anything except the game and we'll be having leftovers for dinner so the kids get Ritz crackers with peanut butter for lunch while we let them sip from our beer cans and watch the games while the wives are shopping.

I am the lucky guy (judging by these posts) who will be spending a wonderful day with about 20 friends from around the world who now live in NYC. I will eat an incredible meal, that has taken an unbelievable amount of time for my talented friends to prepare. I will laugh, drink, smoke some weed and have a great day. I will also direct them all to Datalounge for a good laugh at all of your wit and banter.

I'm the casserole of roasted brussel sprouts that everyone ignores as they fill their plates at the buffet on the sideboard.

I love you R138... and so do my cats.

I am my democratic self that is feeling doubt over my political beliefs after I hear some of my family explain how they won't try to find a job until their unemployment benefits run out, how they are getting disability benefits while appearing to be in good shape, and a single mom gets assistance and how they can get free stuff.

I am the God-forsaken soul doomed with the task of washing the dishes.

I am the low-information Republican voter in favor of affordable care but fervently opposed to Obamacare! I turn beet red when challenged because shouting matches are easier for me to succumb to then civil discussion.

I am a coffee cup. After a pleasant family dinner, I will be innocently cradled with both hands by Aunt Pam which instantly makes the gay brother become absolutely unhinged.

Following a flurry of hurled insults and a dramatic exit, the family room is eerily quiet. Some silently think the brother is on drugs again.

Poor Aunt Pam stares into me and quietly mutters, "Was it something I said? I don't even know what a Jan-bot is..."

I am the Menorah that will be lit this year.

I'm the bucket of grease on the patio that will ignite as Dad plops a raw wet turkey into me. I will induce second-degree burns, a $23,000 hospital bill, and a "Thanksgiving to remember!"

I'm the tofurkey and vegan dressing the hippie-ish cousin brings that is only eaten by her and a couple of relatives who are trying to be "supportive".

I'm the bitter cashier at Target who has to work with the ravening horde on Thanksgiving to satisfy their naked avarice and greed.

I am the jar of Tums that always gets opened thanks to turkey and stuffing heartburn

I'm good old dad's fuck buddy he has on the side who he can't wait to see this holiday weekend

Gobble tov!

I am Janice the Weepy Thanksgiving Vegan.

I'm 30 year old Little Marie. I weigh 320 pounds. My mother, Big Marie, who weighs 100 pounds sopping wet, nudges me if she thinks I put too much salad on my plate.

I eat very small portions. Later, when everyone is out by the pool, I'll pull a chair up to the refrigerator.

I'm the neighborhood liquor store.

You love me today more than you ever have before.

I'm the fleet enema

I'm the convenience store. I am the only thing open in the po-dunk town where your family lives and where dinner is this year.

I'm the entire case of Keystone Light that your tea party republican uncle completely drinks by the end of the day.

I'm the gun collection that your uncle brings every year. Before dinner, all of the guys go up on the hillside and shoot.

I'm the deer in the woods - I haven't been scared since that one (conspicuously absent since) Yankee Brother-in-law went hunting with your tribe of drunken Texas rednecks.

They did take out your aunt Lula Mae's cat one year though.

I'm also your gay cousin who figured out never to get in the truck on Thanksgiving no matter how much fun his daddy promised, at around age 8.

I'm the not so secretly gay son who insists on bringing his much older, very homely girlfriend to Thanksgiving dinner at my aunt's house. My girlfriend is perfect. She's patient and understanding on all those nights I have to work late, and she doesn't really enjoy sex, so "once in a while" is fine with her. The only thing that upsets her is my aunt's constant nagging about our wedding. We got engaged two years ago, but we're in no hurry. My aunt makes her feel bad. My Aunt's second husband looks at me with lustful eyes, and smiles his secret smile.

I'm the Febreeze. In spite of scented holiday candles and two days worth of cooking, you'll still need plenty of me to get rid of the old person smell left by grandma and grandpa.

Aww to R138 and WW to R153.

[all posts by tedious, racist idiot removed.]

Can I come, R147?

I'm the dusty china that hasn't been used since Easter.

I'm the Swanson Turkey with stuffing TV dinner that will keep you company because you have never been able to make friends throughout your entire life and your family hates you.

I'm Dana Lazaro, formerly Dana Brody. But. I. Just. Couldn't. Be. Dana. Brody. Anymore.

I am only here to humor my mother. I am wearing my usual uniform of a long-sleeved plaid flannel shirt over a tee and jeans. My hair is clumped and dirty-looking, the unbuttoned cuffs of my shirt dangle past my fingers. I talk in a monotone and refuse to eat anything because dammit, my father is a lying, traitorous psychopathic murderer and the whole world needs to suffer along with me. Fuck the CIA! Fuck my dad! Fuck the whole world!

Grandma sees right through me and it pisses me off no end. I will not touch her pumpkin pie. Bitch.

I am the plastic covers that your grandmother uses to protect her overstuffed, floral sofa. Despite this protection, the sofa has been defiled by cigarette ash and cat hair. It is also home to a half-sucked Werther's Original, stuffed between the cushions.

I am the resident physician working in the emergency room at the local hospital. I have lost count of the number of food poisoning cases that have been brought into the ER. Food poisoning brought on by improper preparation of various food items ... especially stuffing that was cooked inside the turkey

I am the middle aged,in ill health, unemployable,broke gay uncle who had to move in with his mother.I passed crushing desperation 2 years ago and now Im just numb hoping my unchecked diabetes takes me out with a stroke.If it doesnt do it soon,I may not be responsible for my actions as I loathe you all ,wich is why I left home at 16.You ignorant redneck pieces of shit.

I am the church choir director/organist. I had the choir rehearsing for four weeks the music for the Thanksgiving service. Nine people show up in church .. two more than last year

I'm the American Airlines call center employee who will be working a double shit on Black Friday as people who thought they could hold out for four days desperately try to rebook their flights.

'Double shit' - Freudian slip, R181.

R176- LOL!! And a very good job sir.

I'm the Peking Duck at the only decent Chinese restaurant in town. Every Thanksgiving the same aging assemblage of single lesbians gather around me, drink too much Tsingtao, then go home to quiet, dark houses that smell of cat. There may or may not be a pumpkin pie from Stop And Shop on the counter. For later, maybe

I am the dentures that Grandpa Al takes out and leaves sitting on one of Aunt Betty's linen napkins. We have to eat dinner as those choppers sit there, marinating in Grandpa's saliva.

I'm the therapist gearing up for the windfall that comes my way this year. By the second week of January, I'll be waitlisting new clients and will finally have the money for the downpayment on my new Prius.

I'm the other neurotic sister who is allergic to seafood and nuts and makes damn sure to parade around and remind everyone each and every year. I'll wander dangerously close to the shrimp cocktail and grab my throat looking to see if anyone notices my "close call".. I'll then proceed to load up my plate and ask if this has nuts in it or does that have nuts in it. After eating enough food to feed a small village in Vietnam, I excuse my self to the bathroom. After ten minutes I come out and repeat the whole process.

[all posts by tedious, racist idiot removed.]

I am Yolanda from the catering service. I will be working at the Drs. Feinsteins for a 1 p.m. sitting and at the Buckingham-Wellingtons Esqs; for the 6 p.m. sitting

Both both houses have kitchens that would be the envy of any potential buyer on HOUSE HUNTERS. Sub-Zero and Wolfe appliances, large center islands wine racks and cooler,s regular, microwave and convection ovens, etc. Neither Dr. Feinstein nor Mrs. Buckingham-Wellington can find their way around their kitchens ... even with GPS ... their kitchens might as well be Australia

Both Drs. Feinstein will tip generously. Mr. Buckingham-Wellington Esq. will try and stiff me on a tip. Mrs. Buckingham-Wellington Esq. will tip me generously ... so I will forget what I saw in the butler's pantry.

I will take the leftovers home with me. Me and my children -- Yvette, Maya and Barack -- will celebrate Thanksgiving tomorrow ... before I have to work at some corporate affair.

Nice touch making the WASPs the cheapskates, R189. You're so PC.

I am Debbie the newlywed daughter/daughter-in-law. I felt very queasy this morning as I was preparing the broccoli-cauliflower casserole and baking a pecan pie.

As we were sitting down to eat, I didn't feel very well. I abruptly got up and went into the bathroom, where I tossed my cookies.

The men all think I am coming down with the flu. All the women share a knowing smile

I'm Deb's father in law, smiling proudly at my fertile son.

I am Alice the widowed nurse who lives next door. None of my family lives nearby, so I will work a shift at the hospital today, letting someone else spend with his/her family

When I get home from work, you will invite me in for coffee and pie. I will leave with a plate of food.

When I get back to my house, I will see that I don't have any messages. I will cry into the mashed potatoes and stuffing.

Reading these posts makes me wonder about what's worse: living in a hamlet with extended family or moving on and finding ourselves eventually alone.

I am the French Bulldog (belonging to those extremely well-off childless cousins) who crashes the festivities. My humans think I am their child and will insist I sit at the table and scarf down a turkey dinner.

I am Marisol, the Filipino nanny. My employers will ask me to entertain all the children who will be at their house (by entertaining my employers mean keep those brats under control and out of everybody's hair).

When it comes time to eat, I will be asked, nicely, to help serve the food.

I will either eat in the kitchen or in my room

I'm the 26 year old hipster nephew from Brooklyn. My parents pay (half!) my rent on an apartment in Crown Heights. I work part-time at a book store while trying to jumpstart my music career. I have a patchy beard and wear flannel, and I like to read Philip Roth. Want to hear my demo? I'm secretly envious of my older brother, the banker with the hot new wife, MBA, flashy car, and McMansion in Westchester. But I'm an artist, you see...

I'm the horrible case of indigestion that you get every time you spoon up some of Aunt Matilda's stuffing. It's so good, but you belch like a dying seal after every portion. Yet you can't stop eating it....

R194, Being alone and relaxed and healthy is so much better than dealing with family tension and aggravation and stress.

I'm the face-slaps

R162's Little Marie character makes me want to cry.

R201, I want to hear more about Little Marie as well.

I'm the thirtysomething, overweight, self-employed gay brother living at home. I'm in a cool sounding job that sounds like it pays well and is easy. Instead, I'm a slave to its long hours, low pay, lack of social interaction, and often paralysed by fear and despair at the idea of losing it. I will bitch about how I can't relax, and then walk off to find a phone or computer and do work in the few hours where I really do have the chance to relax. I'll throw in a couple of zingers that will get people laughing, but I'll still feel like the odd one out at the party and be glad when it's over so I can go back to being miserable alone.

I'm the fortysomething second cousin with a wife and a couple of kids who looks down on everyone, blissfully unaware everyone is looking down on him. I'm always looking for the next hustle, trying for jobs way out of my league, and not caring I've left my far smarter, sweeter and more honest wife at home with the kids who're sweet but high maintenance due to being deathly allergic to everything. I'm also the guy at the party everyone wishes had drowned in that 'accident' a few years ago.

I am Carol Anne, the 14 year old child of divorce. I am at Disney with my two brothers, Gavin and Garrett, my father and my father's new girlfriend, Tracee.

I don't know what is lamer -- being here with my brothers, my dad and his latest squeeze or spending Thanksgiving with Mom and Aunt Sally and Uncle Bert at my grandparents.

Poor ol Giada practically cut her finger off on the live Thanksgiving show yesterday on the Food Network. She was slicing her shitty turkey roll and the knife slipped.

I am the Thanksgiving football game between archrivals North and Southern High Schools. The cousins who are alumni of the school that won will be unbearable to the cousins who attended the school that lost. Their cousins who went to the other high schools will just roll their eyes

This stuffing tastes like shit.

R203: that sounds autobiographical...and sad.

I'm the grandparent on the man's side of the family who is never invited for Thanksgiving but will be expected on Christmas eve with presents in tow. Usually invited to friend's family feasts but have decided to screw them all and head off next year for New York or at very least, DC.

I'm the judgemental vegan who questions what everyone else is eating. I will explain in great detail the virtues of tofu, especially how it is so versatile that it can taste like almost anything else.

r211.....except good.

I'm the manipulative aunt that lied to my sister and told her that none of the annoying family members, (including the other sister that maliciously betrayed her and tried tarnishing her reputation with vicious slander) were invited, and it was safe to come over and have a nice, peaceful Thanksgiving with only the sane, tolerable relatives!

Not long after, my sister realized that I was a complete manipulative nutjob as well, and we've had no contact for over 3 years.

This thread is more depressing than usual this year. I hope you all have a good holiday, and if your families make you crazy, well, at least you have us.

Use douche before you stuff your thanksgiving turkey.

This thread Makes me grateful that I never spend time with family over Thanksgiving

[all posts by tedious, racist idiot removed.]

I'm the picture-perfect nuclear family on the brink of foreclosure, bankruptcy, and divorce. We're leaving for Disney World on Friday morning!!

I am Caitlyn, an associate at a white shoe law firm. I am at potluck Thanksgiving dinner that one of my law school classmates is holding for youngish professionals who don't have a have a place to go for Thanksgiving.

I nervously keep checking for text messages from my boss, a senior partner at the firm who is my mentor and my lover. He said he will text me when he can get away from his family Thanksgiving dinner so we can spend some quality time together. The text never comes

On Monday, he will tell me that he said that he would TRY to get away from the family dinner ... but the in-laws stayed longer than expected, that he lost track of time watching the football game, that his wife wanted to go to the mall and see what the excitement is all about. I meekly said "okay."

Right now, I am talking with Norbert, an earnest Irish Catholic CPA who works in the same building as my law school classmate ... which is how he got invited here. Norbert is slightly overweight with thinning hair and wears glasses with Coke bottle frames.

At present, I find Norbert's attention annoying, but as the afternoon goes on, I will find it re-assuring and comforting. Later I will wonder what he would look like if he went to the gym, lost some weight and wore stylish glasses. At the end of the evening, I will wonder what he looks like naked and what he is like in bed ... is he buttoned-down in the bedroom? is he a wild man once he takes off his jacket and tie? is he saving himself for marriage?

I don't know it yet, but my life as well as the lives of Norbert, my boss and my boss's wife are all about to get very interesting.

Who the fuck put oysters in this year's stuffing?

Who the fuck does something like that? Who?

I am the daughter-in-law of {R37}. I work as department manager for one of the stories in the mall. My bosses have informed that all managers must report to the store by 5 p.m. on Thanksgiving Day. All other employees who are are scheduled to work that night must come in by 6 p,m.

The powers-that-be have promised a catered Thanksgiving dinner to us for giving up time with our families. The dinner will be turkey roll, canned mashed potatoes, stuffing out a box, frozen veggies, brown-and-serve rolls, margarine (no butter) store-bought pie, coffee, tea but no decaf

[quote]We have to eat dinner as those choppers sit there, marinating in Grandpa's saliva.

Grandpa's saliva is a sickly yellow color. No one notices at first but eventually someone does, because it sits on the white tablecloth and the stain spreads. Those of us who have noticed have suddenly lost our appetites.

We retreat to the backyard and smoke.

My ancient grandfather sat in the middle of the dinner table. Chewing and swallowing made his nasal cavities drip. This is awful:

He would pull a old yellowed, crusty hankerchief out of his pocket and SHAKE IT VIOLENTLY at the table to make it open up for use.

The entire family, on both side of the table without even looking up from our dinner plates would lean to the side like parallel bending twigs to get away from that snotty hankerchief. We'd slowly return to our normal positions once he was done.

I really hated that old man all of my life.

I'm the dirty laundrey that's going to be exposed before the evening is over.

I am Uncle Joe, who is Father Joe the pastor of Our Lady of Suburbia parish. I will be asked to give grace before the meal. As always, I will be pithy and witty and to the point in as few words as possible.

As I look around the room, I reflect about those present, most of whom are in my gene pool. Then I realized how grateful I am for the gifts of celibacy and chastity; and am thankful that I didn't give the world another surly teenager or Ritalin-dependent preschooler

I am the new wife of a family friend of the hosts. I sent a list of foods I cannot/will not eat and it is very long. It includes all gluten products as well as things like potatoes, tomatoes and oranges. The hosts will make several special dishes for me. I will still not eat any of them. My in-laws will be embarrassed by my pickiness but will not say anything. The host family will complain about me the minute I walk out the door.

lol r219

I'm the high school "reunion" that's held at a dive bar the Friday night after Thanksgiving. I'm littered with receding hairlines, expanding waistlines, and the soporific sadness of old classmates that never left the Small Town, USA.

I am Father Schneider, a Jesuit priest who was invited to the Murphy family Thanksgiving. I watch in silent shock as I see the hostess start choking her daughter, for not setting the table correctly. I am further traumatized by seeing the hostess' s husband punch her to get her to stop attacking the daughter. In need another whiskey sour desperately.

I am Brian from across the street. I am also a firefighter at Number Six Engine Company, a couple of streets over. So far today, me and my men have put out three kitchen grease fires, three other kitchen fires and two grease fires involving attempts to deep fry turkeys.

When I get off shift in a few minutes, I am taking the wife and kids out for dinner at the best restaurant in town. I am a professional and at least for tonight, I will let the pros take care of dinner

I am Betty Ann, one of the home economists at Butterball's Turkeyline. I am giving up a part of my Thanksgiving so I can rescue someone else's Thanksgiving dinner via the telephone..

I will sweetly inform a new bride that is probably too late to try and defrost a 25-pound turkey and expect to serve it at a 6 p.m. dinner, I will explain to a newly widowed father what giblets are and how to make giblet gravy; I will reassure another newlywed that lumpy gravy is par for the course, but will give her my tips and tricks for lump free gravy. I will be that reassuring voice that will persuade some reluctant soul that he can pull off Thanksgiving dinner for parents and his in-laws. I will even lie and make up a story about the disaster that was the first Thanksgiving that my husband Marty and I shared to calm a novice in the kitchen.

God, I love my job and God bless Alexander Graham Bell.

I am Taneshia, the girl that Trey brought home for the holidays.

Trey didn't tell ya that I am African American, did he?.

Everyone has been so painfully polite and oh so politically correct ... c'mon people, RELAX. I like Trey a lot, I may even love him, but I just got into law school and he is going to grad school, so it will be at least five years before we can get married at the earliest. Again, people RELAX.

Oh, and by the way, can I get the recipe for the pork-and-cornbread stuffing? It is almost as good as my granny's and way better than Mom's

I'm the outdoor Christmas lights some New Jersey homo put up 2 weeks ago. I've been talking with a few of the bulbs in line and one has decided to commit suicide in the morning so the rest of us can have the holiday off. He's not the brightest bulb, but he sure is a team player.

I'm your inflamed, septic gallbladder, which will send you to the ER doubled over in pain just as you're hitting the sack Thanksgiving night. It's only fair; you irritated me by starting the day with a double serving of pecan pie and kept up a steady stream of buttery potatoes, thick gravy and cheesy corn casserole all day. So live it up because once I'm gone, you'll never enjoy a rich meal again with experiencing explosive diarrhea!

I am the Catholic priest who puts up with his drunk siblings who harass him about the Catholic church during dinner. I leave early to take a 2 hour trip to a small town up north. Why? My secret son lives there and I want to see him grow up.

[R209] It is autobiographical, but you know the saddest thing? It's a description that literally fits 80% of the guys who work in my field.

R232, they knew weeks ago when "Trey" told them your name.

BTW, Trey?? You should have named the boyfriend Kevin or Mike.

R236: HUGS! Don't be so hard on yourself.

I'm your dad's new girlfriend. I wasn't invited to your house, but I am estranged from my own kids so what the heck. Do you mind if I smoke in here?

I am the ticking clock - whether on the mantle, on the kitchen stove, hanging on a nearby wall, or on looking back at you from the wristwatch cell phone you keep surreptitiously checking.

I am here to remind you that eventually, your annual nightmare will be over. Just hang in there, my friends. I promise you that this too will pass.

I am you great Aunt Clara. I have one question: "Now that gay marriage is now legal in this state, when are you and your boyfriend gonna get married? am an old lady and I cannot wait forever for the two of you to make up your minds about a wedding date."

Bumping my favorite thread of the year!

Last year's turkey.

Blech.

____

****

I am the calm AFTER the storm. The obnoxious guests have gone home and the close relatives have stayed behind to help clean up. Once again Mom knew enough to make extra helpings of her delicious stuffing and left plates of it sitting on the now barren table, along with slices of turkey and extra rolls with lots of butter. Some of us are playing cards and some are playing Monopoly in between running out to the dining room to graze the leftovers sitting there. All the hubbub is done and quiet mostly reigns over the house.

My favorite part of Bird day.

I'm chortling.

I’m the matronly in-law who has been a secret alcoholic for years, however my drinking has now become so apparent that everyone notices, even the small children present. It’s only 2:00 PM and I’m already drunk. I’m maudlin to the point of tears, because I can’t say enough good things about the hostess.

Post #34 from a related 2014 thread essentially wins the Internet:

(post at URL)

R234 That person has to be a comedy writer.!The Ouija Board was hilarious.

Miley Turkey..

****

****

Time for being THANKful all you DL fuckers...take time from the misery in your life and be THANKful ...family , friends, life. Amen! Watch the parade it will bring the kid out of you again ;)

I hope everyone has a good day tomorrow, no matter where you spend Thanksgiving :o)

I can't see my posts.

You do the same r240

I am Caitlyn Jenner..and I am going to run you over in my car as you cradle in your arms the last stick of butter you grabbed from the super busy corner store!

R242 Thanks

You’re the 40+ year old gay man who walks toward the house and stands somewhat hesitantly at the front door before he takes a deep breath and opens it and steps inside. You look toward the back of the house and see the dining room table fully set for dinner. The living room off to the left is noisy with laughter, jokes and gossip about people who are strangers to you. No one sees you at first because the alcove is dark compared to the rest of the space. Those few who do see you blink with confusion, then they shout hellos and greetings, hoping in vain that you didn’t see the initial reaction.

You’re drawn toward the group, introductions are made, hands are shaken and a gentle pair of hands shrugs your coat off, whisking it away to the darkened bedroom before you realize. You settle in on the nearest chair among these people and accept the offered glass of wine. It’s not your favorite but you sense it has the right alcoholic content you need right then. You gaze at the faces, flushed with alcohol and mirth as you strain to catch a thread of conversation you can follow in the hopes that you can contribute something interesting or at least relateable.

Dinner is served and you set yourself at the corner of the big dining room table squeezed between individuals who address their meal with as much attention and energy as they did the conversations they engaged in before. You pick at your food because you realize that most of the food being served is inedible and too calorie-laden for you to manage.

You pick at your food and occasionally mumble an agreement or a smile when a random question happens to be pointed your way. Eventually the meal winds down through dessert and coffee and those same folks you encountered in the living room make their way back, seated approximately in the same spaces they occupied when you first stepped into the space.

After a few minutes of listening to a rehash of the pre-dinner conversations you earlier listened to, you make your excuses and leave. You close the front door, peek into the window and sigh. You sigh because these people are now strangers and you sigh, mostly because you look at the faces of those strangers and you remember that you used to call them brother, sister and cousin and mom.

And you sigh again and go back to your life and remind yourself that you left. You left for so many reasons, you left because you knew you couldn’t be a part of that world anymore and that they can't be a part of the life you have now.

You sigh and realize that the life you go back to is one that you wouldn’t trade for all the Crisco-laden Thanksgiving dinners in the world. Because you found the life that you deserve, and the people in that life love you for who you are, not for what you bring to a forgotten Thanksgiving dinner.

I am the front desk clerk at your town's Embassy Suites hotel.

I get to see the parade of family's coming to check in, cranky after a hellish flight and uptight in anticipation at what they will have to endure at Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow. I overhear all the "Your mother better not.... this year." and the threats made to the children "I'm going to be watching and listening, don't you dare embarrass me in front of...."

Then on Friday, I see and hear it all again but in reverse upon checking out... "I can't believe your cousin did/said that..." "Why does he/she have to be such an asshole?" "Next year we're not going to...."

What a face!

----

Hasn't anyone noticed that this thread is from 2013?

R249 There's posts through 2014,so why not use it.

[quote] I am various, assorted babies rolling around on the floor of the TV room. The floor is covered with "Hello Kitty" and "Toy Story' blankies. Our moms will screech at Uncle Dave " YOU ALMOST STEPPED ON M'KAAAAAAYYYYYYLLLLLAAAAAA!"

I am Uncle Dave. Fuck your babies. It's time for the Cowboys game. I'm going to drink waaaaaay too much Bud Light and scratch my balls. Oh, can one of you go get me a piece of pumpkin pie? Sure, I'll keep an eye on Jayden. I'll also give him a sip of my beer when you're not looking.

OMFG! You described Thanksgiving at my sister's house! You forgot to add : " I'm out of wipeys! Can I borrow a dishtowel to clean Ay'uh'dun's poopy butt?"

Our 2016 bump

How different things were in 2013. Racist posts were deleted. No antisemitism. No posts ranting about trans, SJWs, Muslims, Hillbots, "disease-ridden homos," right wing conspiracy theories, obscenities.

It's what Datalounge used to be before Mio and his shit stirrers showed up and took over.

[quote]How different things were in 2013. Racist posts were deleted. No antisemitism. No posts ranting about trans, SJWs, Muslims, Hillbots, "disease-ridden homos," right wing conspiracy theories, obscenities.

No morons, no white trash, no "uneducated"...

Some stupid bitch invited herself, her friend and get this, a negro to my house for dinner and I won't even be there

I'm coming home to Detroit for Thanksgiving and would like to go to a bar the Wednesday night before. In past years, I would go to Pronto's and it was always busy. Last year it was deserted. Detroiters, where, if anywhere, do you recommend I go this year?

Some relatives are Evangelist, and love trump. There will be the usual, strained and forced conversation...no politics. My aunt never liked me, for whatever reason, so I can't stand her. It's painful and awkward, and can't wait to get home.