Let's be a Leftist Elite Thanksgiving!

I'm the all vegan menu.

I'm the hand-thrown pottery dishes Willow threw on her wheel. I incorporate a yonic symbol around the edge.

I'm the all-organic cruelty-free turkey. I cost 120 dollars. You may have heard of me.

We're the passive-aggression.

I'm the discomfort with gathering, even if we are explicitly acknowledging the patriarchal, white roots of the day and denying that is why we gather.

I'm adults sitting cross-legged on the floor, earnestly cradling elegant goblets of a perky merlot.

I'm breast feeding.

I'm the parents who ask their infant daughter for permission to do anything, including feed her, burp her and change her diaper, because "it's her body".

I'm the golden light of various Instagram feeds.

R5 Is the exact reasons I don't celebrate Thanksgiving.

I'm the full-blooded Native American academic, social worker or bead artist. I am a hot ticket this weekend and then forgotten about the rest of the year.

I'm the clouds of pot smoke.

I'm the thing Cousin Esme wrote for her zither. I will be played, damn you. Damn you all to hell.

I'm the organic, no added sulfites "wine". I suck. Thank the non-denominational gender-free deity that Brody's recently divorced banker brother Tom brought 2 bottles of Veuve Clicquot.

I'm the over the top and insincere expressions of support when the hosts announce that their 9 year old daughter is gender fluid and so Xanthe is now just "Xan" and their pronouns are them and they.

I'm the body odour. Well, come on, you don't think I'm going to bathe every day, do you?

Then I'm your armpit hair.

I'ma bowl of old dried out autumn leaves placed on the table. Guests are encouraged to use me as napkins, so that we have a truly organic experience.

R1, funny. I ordered 4 of this: just $40/2 people.

I'm the more-organic-than-thou hostess who proudly annouces that her meal and beverages are unique because she won't allow any carbohydrates, sugar, alcohol or caffeine in her house.

Ew, [R16]! I'll have you know I bathe everyday in a beautiful waterfall just a 10-minute hike from my all-wood home. Except when it's chilly in which case I use my all-marble architect-designed master bath. We are the liberal elite, after all.

I'm Xan's 14 year old brother Coltrane and I'm torn between wanting to watch the Cowboys-Bills game and the knowledge that my parents would rather I was watching slash porn than the NFL but thinking that getting my iPad and watching the game may be a great way to take the attention away from that freak.

I am the competition to look More Distraught Than Anyone Else In The Universe anytime Trump's name is mentioned.

Tofurkey anyone?

I'm Uncle Earl from Talladega Al. I drunkenly stumbled into this mess because no one else will have me for the holidays anymore. The Lefties are too polite to tell me to get lost.

I'm the nutloaf.

I’m the hysterical, vegetarian eldergay who makes it all about him when he sees a turkey is being served and has to retreat to the front porch where he eagerly awaits comforting words from others. He could just leave, but then he’d miss out on the comforting words.

I'm the organic tarragon snipped this morning in the carbon-neutral "serre" on the south side on the Vigeo Eiris approved bamboo yoga studio by the Schwimmteich eco pound.

I'm the brownies. Half of me are very special. I forget which half. Better keep an eye on the kids. Tee hee.

I'm the organic farm collective from whence all the vegetable bounty came. I'm well-subscribed to by the local gentry. Did you know Sigourney Weaver stops by for parsnips? Well, she does. Striking woman, a little chilly.

We're the drunken admissions, once the crowd has dwindled post-dessert, that we are indeed benefiting nicely from Trump's tax plan.

I'm the 2019 Mercedes Benz, because since little Quince was born we just don't feel as if we're providing them (they're gender neutral) with enough safety by driving an American car.

I detect a strong crossover in the DL imagination between "leftist elite" and "lesbian," right down to the nutloaf.

I'm 30+ rooms of 1925 Colonial Revival architecture. I have solar panels somewhere. Plus the people who clean me are called maintenance engineers instead of maids.

[quote]I'm the nut loaf.

We're the nut jobs.

I'm pencil mustaches and John Lennon glasses.

I'm antique pewter. I feel...authentic.

I'm the gorgeous centerpiece of marsh rushes and dried cranberries that the children helped with for 12 fucking hours to get it perfect you little bastards.

As r33 implied....

I'm the people getting Leftist Elite Thanksgiving with Lesbian Thanksgiving

One of the best DL threads EVAH!

I'm the jazz hands in response to the interpretive dance.

I am great aunt Agatha. I am occasionally mistaken for Stevie Nicks. By people related to me, no less.

I'm the pipes the gentlemen use for smoking in the walnut paneled study.

I'm the asshole who brought Your Millenial Friend as my plus one. I'll be crossed off future invitation lists forever.

I'm the 19-year-old who learned about the history of the holiday and Native American genocide on Twitter 15 minutes ago. For the next hour I will screech "Do you KNOW what we're actually celebrating here?" into your ear while you try to enjoy your next slice of pie.

This is the story of my life! I don’t even know where to begin.

I am Celtic folk music with a quivering voiced woman vocalist coming out of the 1990’s stereo system. I am murmurs of “oh the slaughter” when an unsuspecting newcomer brings a ham. I am the resentful lesbians smoking in the driveway. I am the inedible pie crust made out of cauliflower. I am the condescending tone towards gen z since the boomers were in SNCC back in the 60’s and once allowed a Jew into the sorority house. I am the tears shed drunkenly and lugubriously after the inedible pie because so many people are dead. I am dishes that are washed immediately by the angry lesbians, who need something to scrub while muttering about all the horrible patriarchal cliches unfolding in the next room. And I am the one black person drug over here by the boomer matriarch so that there is a POC represented. Unfortunately, this POC brought the ham.

I'm Guadalupe. I work for the hosts taking care of Xan and Coltrane and cooking and cleaning while they are at school. My family is back in Honduras and so my employers have insisted that I join them for this meal with their annoying gringo friends who patronize me. They love to tell me about their trips to Costa Rica and they outdo themselves in using over the top and often incorrect Spanish pronunciations of my name, the name of my home town, Honduras, Nicaragua, Guatemala, Alfonso Cuáron, and turquia, once I tell them what the word is in Spanish.

I love to see the puzzled and uncomfortable looks on their faces when I say "Hispanico" and "Latino" instead of "Latinx"

^^I also love to answer them in English when they use their Beto O'Rourke Spanish on me. I have lived in the US for 15 years bitches. I can speak English.

I am the suggestion that we all play an 18th century parlor game that is really quite fun and amusing.

I involve raisins.

I am the Narcissistic Personality Disorder diagnosis that is just waiting in the wings for R8 's daughter.

I'm the African-American friend who was invited to this celebration. My hostess is very proud of herself for having invited me.

I am Cousin Anastasia. I arrive in a smog-belching old Studebaker and a swirl of sables, a cigar protruding from an amber holder clenched in my equine chops. I am nearly universally disapproved of, but tolerated because I once fucked Arthur Miller.

I am 800 acres just off River Road. I provide privacy. It's just so nice to have things quiet.

I am all the conversations the African-American friend at R50 has to endure as various white Boomers try and prove to me how Woke they are. The worst are the ones who need to show off their knowledge of obscure jazz musicians of the 1930s, followed by the ones who feel compelled to tell me how much they love Obama or Lizzo or both.

Well?? Do you R44?? Do you understand what you are celebrating?? I'm sorry R44, didn't realize you were a pro-genocide colonialism lover! My mistake!

*takes plate of food and throws it down the garbage disposal in protest of all things White, stands there with a look of anguish knowing that fixing all of the past wrongs is up to me*

*invited Native American guest gets a sick feeling in his stomach, knows this he is going to be stuck with this little asshole all fucking night*

I'm casual nudism.

I am the conversations R53 mentioned. I don't care if I bring up topics that I really have no firsthand knowledge of and topics that upset the lone African-American guest, make them feel uncomfortable or were hoping to take a break from and just enjoy some good food and some good laughs, I AM WHITE AND WOKE DAMMIT!

R4 A liberal Thanksgiving would not be complete without you.

I am the man bitching about all the Thanksgiving/Black Friday sales and the greedy, capitalist billionaire pigs. I am secretly looking at all the good deals on my iPhone, though.

I appreciate that and it's a lovely thing to say, R57. I just wish I was sure you meant it.

I am the warm feeling of self-satisfaction that washes over the one-percent-er couple who decided to only invite non-white guests. You know, to sort of make up for all of those police shootings.

I am Morticia Addams.

You cunts stole my look.

I am all the white people making fun of white people. We are in on the joke! I am the Pakistani boyfriend of one of the cousins, who grew up adoring American culture and is now confused. And why do they all want to natter on about that boring tabla music? And that the Beatles appropriated it? Geez, pass the wine.

I am the structured play hour in which the children are encouraged to come up of a list of reasons why the town golf course should be bulldozed and turned into a lovely nature preserve.

I'm the right wing uncle triggered by all this ...and start to talk about how great Trump is.

I'm the long-winded diatribe against fossil fuels by Darin which serves as a segue to humblebrag about the new Tesla he and Sheila drove to the gathering.

I'm the heritage turkey the hostess ordered online from D'Artagnan. After shipping, I came to $30 dollars a pound, and have as much meat on me as a fly strip in winter, though less moist and flavorful.

I am Fifi , Cousin Anastasia's poodle in r51. I waited in anticipation for tidbits of the turkey to fall my way....only to disappointed that its made of tofu . I then go and crap on the hand-woven rug Auntie Muriel made in 1967.

I am the upvote that I gave to everyone on this thread so far as I have no life and I haven't stopped laughing all morning .....kudos to DLers

I’m the whooping cough being passed around the kids’ table because all of the parents are anti-vaxxers.

I'm the Australian guest, invited at the last minute when it became clear that there simply were no Native Americans or POC to be had. My cheerful racism, colorful profanity and naked disdain for Thanksgiving as "seppo commercialized shite" all given in the typical no-indoor-voice beloved of my people do not go down particularly well.

Later, my hosts' vacation plans to visit Sydney will be scrapped.

I'm canceling Thanksgiving altogether and starting Transgiving, a celebration of Trans Sex Workers of Color.

I am Bronxville. I am the location of a disproportionate amount of this nonsense. I sometimes sigh for the glory days, when I was populated by WASPs whose idea of celebrating Thanksgiving was to vaguely remember for two or three contiguous hours that they actually had children.

I'm Tarquin, the cousin with the Pakistani bf at R62; I am the modern Andy Warhol and my bf is very confused about American culture.

I'm the department store heiress, explaining her way through her diamonds as a source of healing crystal energy.

I'm going to establish a safe space/rescue zone for the oppressed Turkeys, who's in?

I'm the Cherokee sign language being used to communicate menu choices.

I'm in R75!!

Now, would please sign the online petition I started to get Disney to make all of their future characters gay, lesbian, bi, transgendered and characters of color?

I am the 'Full Frontal With Samantha Bee' marathon that plays throughout the day.

WE LOVE HER!!!

I am R23, wilted and defeated. Someone else manage to out-anguish me on the whole Trump thing.

I am mentally pressuring Hilary to run during the Apology to All Native People's prayer that begins our vegan Thanksgiving meal.

I'm the flasks of whiskey and packs of cigs in the pockets of the guests who will shortly have enough of this earnest, more-woke-than-thou clusterfuck, and will be indulged in behind the garage.

I'm Jane Fonda. I would have gladly accepted your invitation but I'm trying to get arrested again.

#JaneLovesPlanetEarth #FuckPOWs

I am the two moms having a frank discussion over the fact that their two teenage sons were recently observed jerking each other off and how it's perfectly healthy at their age and nothing to be ashamed about.

And R76 wins The Most Left of The Leftist Elite Award of 2019! LMAO R76 !

I'm the gay guest suddenly trying not to think of teenage boys masturbating.

I'm the teenage boys in question.

I am the liberating can-you-top-this stories about going to California or Colorado and buying legal marijuana only to realize how much stronger it is than what we had at Wesleyan back in the early 70s.

I’m standing out of view in the backyard and cursing myself for forgetting to bring a back up cigarette lighter.

I'm one of R83 's moms who kind of hopes this means that her son is gay. Oh! Think of all the proud mommy of a gay son blogging!

I'm all the head-shaking and cluck-clucking about the growing homeless problem. Isn't it terrible? You know, there should be government-sponsored housing to help all the homeless people. Not within 50 square miles of where WE live, mind you, but somewhere.

I'm the Vassar girls. I am silently judging everyone here. Except for the Native American academic, who I am planning on double-fucking under the Steinway.

I keep a polite smile on my face and make a feeble excuse as to why I need to step out and check out R81 's corner.

SECONDS SEEM LIKE MINUTES TODAY!!!

I'm the lone African-American guest who made her hosts feel proud of themselves who has come up with a believable excuse to leave early and the proceeds to leave early.

I am the Native American guest, I got my dinner and some nice wine and I am also leaving early.

I'm the Australian guest. Is there any way I can crash here on the sofa for the next few days? Oh, and you're out of that lousy bourbon.

I'm the hostess who is alone in the kitchen cleaning up and drowning her disappointment that none of her profoundly-understanding-of-the-people-of-color statements have not gone viral in a big glass of merlot. Not so perky merlot at this point.

After dinner we are not watching any Detroit Lions or Dallas Cowboys football games. However, in a couple of hours after dinner, there is a scheduled Lifetime movie that has potential to garner interest

I am the woke males who stand with Emma Watson.

I am the especially sheltered leftist elitist who still thinks Lena Dunham is a worthwhile individual who is deserving of my time and attention.

I am Emma Watson.

There is the greedy, rightwing elite...left wing elite? I never met any...not even one.

Not an African root-vegetable dish Emma? Hmmm. Someone's white nationalism is showing!!

I'm the violent eye-rolling from the African American guest when the white hostess starts talking about her "natural hair journey."

I am new to this woke stuff and sit silently in the corner smiling and fake laughing and terrified that anything I say will be transphobic, an indication of my privilege or that someone will call me a Boomer.

I'm the fact that more friends than family were invited because friends are the family one chooses for oneself.

And one's family are insufferable county-club assholes.

[R101} go to the Hudson River Valley and swing a cat.

They will soon make their presence known.

I am the ceramic pumpkin sitting on the front porch.

I am the horse stables. Horse are such beautiful creatures, don't you think? We decorate the stables for Autumn as well as the house because animals appreciate color and design. We are often inspired by them. Why just yesterday, Misty left a pile of droppings redolent of a work by Ursula Von Rydingsvard.

I'm the off-color joke that offends everyone for very complex and different personal reasons. Except for the Australian, who says "that's just stupid, mate," and proceeds to tell his own much dirtier version.

I’m the textbook definition of a leftist elite and I’ve never seen anything portrayed in this thread in real life. This is just a thread for Boris and Cletus to try and outdo each other with right-wing fabricated stereotypes.

I am a lovely cake of ricotta and violet liqueur purchased at this charming little bakery in Rhinebeck.

I am the textbook definition of a Leftist Elite as well, [R110] and do tell us all about your lovely little place under a fucking rock.

I am R110. I am having my one-person leftist elite manufactured, faux outrage competition.

No, I am R110. I have the luxury of sitting around thinking up things to be offended by.

I'm the artfully arranged organic, all-cotton tampons placed prominently in a wicker basket in the bathroom so that women and particularly the tween and teen girls don't have to be embarrassed to ask the hostess should they suddenly need one.

I'm bathroom soup with dried kale in it.

I'm Susan Sarandon.

PLEASE LET ME IN!!! *desperate knocking* I WAS LEFT OUT OF METOO, NO ONE ASKED FOR MY VIEW ON POLICE SHOOTINGS, NO ONE IS PAYING ATTENTION TO ME ANYMORE!!

I NEED A HIT, SOME OF THAT GOOD " SUSAN YOU'RE MY HERO, SUSAN RIPS TRUMP, SUSAN YOU'RE SO BRAVE, SUSAN YOU LOOK SO YOUNG FOR YOUR AGE" STUFF!

R115 And if the fellas don't like it all the better! The orgasmic ego rush I'll get by lecturing one of them - especially a white one!!! - if they complain about the tampons...oh God!

Sorry Susan, we can't hear you. Sigourney Weaver is telling us the most fascinating things about her support of the Natural Resources Defense Council. It's so wonderful when a beautiful woman is such a strong one, don't you agree?

I'm the nanny. Really, my employers think of me as a friend. And given how they treat me I occasionally wonder how they have any friends.

I am cousin Amber. I resemble the young Lauren Bacall. Alas, I act like the elderly Lauren Bacall. Any schmuck who tries to put the moves on me will be wearing his nutsack as a skullcap in five seconds flat.

I'm an impromptu concert of work by Bela Bartok given on the Steinway right before the meal by an anxious pianist visiting from Berlin. I'm Carnegie Hall-level quality but making the hostess nervous as the wild mushroom and quinoa soup has already been plated and is starting to get cold.

I'm where the butterfly feeding garden is going to go.

Thanks you OP for posting a wonderful thread about the hypocrisy of the left peoples of America who are not patriots like those of us here on Datalounge who are people who love our patriots president Donald Trump. You are to be congratulated for supporting our president and everything he does to stop the bad radical left people of America who want to destroy this patriot country,

I'm Boris. I am humorless, perpetually outraged and don't realize that there are liberals who are having a lot of fun on this thread.

As I also started the Deplorable Thanksgiving thread, you may take your thanks and stick them where the sun don't shine. Moscow, for example.

I am Trans-Ghost.

R119 No, I'm the older but still beautiful woman! Me! Me! Me!

PLEASE don't tell me you have forgotten about my marriage to the younger Tim Robbins! You're telling me that you don't remember how much mileage we got out that arrangement??? She's older than him, but still beautiful, they have kids but they don't need a piece of paper to prove their love, he's a liberal male in love with an older, but still beautiful, woman??

Who in the hell do you think launched the leftist elite movement???

FUCK SUZY WEAVER! YEAH, HER REAL FIRST NAME IS SUSAN! NOW LET ME IN!!

I'M....what?...wha...well, yes my and Tim's relationship ended when both of our careers went in the crapper. So? What of it?....Coincidence! This was nothing more than coincidence....*Susan becomes a sobbing, broken heap on the font porch*

I'm the special charging station installed inside the fieldstone portico for electric vehicles. Numerous guests will request to use me throughout the evening. (And before you start in, the portico is topped with artfully placed solar panels so no fossil fuels are used.)

I'm the 1978 Rolls Royce Silver Shadow. Most people think I'm a bit much, but then I am uncle Edgar's car. You know how show people are. He and Aunt Anastasia are such close friends. He once had a fling with Roddy McDowall. Maybe he'll sing a few songs out of Ivor Novello's book. If this blasted German pianist ever stops banging away.

I am going to upstage the scenario at R115--while adding in R4 by inquiring as to whether the hostess also has any "Moon Cups" and making it clear that while I am not going to say anything outright--because that would be awkward--I clearly think anything less than Moon Cups is surrendering to the patriarchy.

I am Uncle Edgar singing Ivor Novello. I sound like Shere Khan with a hairball.

I'm the closet Trump voter, secretly watching the New England Patriots game on my phone, with the sound off.

I'm the humblebragging about what Serena and Elipsis are doing at their Montessori.

I'm the Guggenheim Grant. One of the guests won me. I will mentioned very quietly and casually about every 10 minutes.

I am an actual real live Guggenheim. I just completed a documentary film about the Mexican border crisis. All of the women and some of the men are imagining me with my clothes off.

I'm the hushed discussion in the kitchen about the Australian guest who is now as drunk as a skunk and beginning to needle the Native American with "Red Indian" jokes. Thus far the latter is responding with cool detachment. But there seems an increasing risk of at least a partial reenactment of the Mystic River Massacre nonetheless.

I am the DWI driving history of the assembled guests. Like the Deplorable version, I am a lengthy tome.

I'm corduroy.

I'm full acceptance of male pattern baldness.

I'm Wallace Shawn. I'm looking for Julianne Moore. I think I see her just past Sigourney's knees.

I am the Nobel Prize winning astrophysicist whose recent book on the devolution of light is said to be the most important ever published on the subject. I was invited through a series of random connections and my acceptance of the invitation was a major coup for the hostess.

I have the social skills of a cherrystone clam.

I’m the unspoken history of how granddaddy got his fortune in the oilfields of Oklahoma on land wrested from the Pawnee tribe. Now we pretend to be from Connecticut.

I'm the history of Connecticut.

I'm the Asian guest subtly discussing cultural appropriation with the host while giving her a dirty look over the Buddhist statue in the living room

I'm the boys' mothers really hoping our sons soon realise they're actually trans.

-58.5/10

I'm the fascist, little mind of the troll who tells himself he's "conservative" so desperate to comfort himself in an age when his entire party is going Straight Down the Shitter that all it can do is slander liberals for things they don't do — AGAIN — and hope it will distract people's attention from Trump's corruption and a useless, morally decrepit failure of a Republican Party.

I am the pregnant woman discussing my upcoming home birth in my custom made copper tub. I sprinkle the word doula throughout the entire evening and mention I'm planning on canning the placenta for future health benefits.

Just like Dumb Dubya Bush, Trump's defiance in the face of failures and disasters he created is going to wipe his own party out of power in Congress.

Mitch McConnell can retire to the turtle nest and fuck Susan Collins 'til the cows come home.

THANKS, TRUMP! It's fun watching your white trash army of suckers squirm, too!

R4 I had tofurkey at a party I hosted once; turned out it was very popular with the Southwest Asians from India who were vegetarian. No leftovers (thank god).

Gee, don't be so hard on yourself, [148]. I'd just call you a dumb cunt myself.

Thank you, R109 and others mentioning the Australian, who was definitely the most entertaining guest at this dull event.

I'm the closet Trump voter 20 minutes later. My phone has died and now I have to sit through the next hour listening to how much everyone here hates me because I'm a white man with lots of money. I'm here because my wife Karen is close friends with the hostess, who was passing out hand-woven pussy hats when they met. I outwardly agree that Elizabeth Warren's 70% tax plan will solve all of America's problems as I inwardly calculate how much it'll cost to set up an offshore bank account. I also have no historic oppression to use as a power tactic to shut down people because I am the cause of that oppression, so my only purpose is to quietly listen while my wife and our white counterparts air their grievances about being white oppressors. To counter suspicion, I continuously proclaim that Trump is a Fascist every 15 minutes, while silently asking God Emperor Trump for forgiveness each time I do so.

We're the parents who report their daughter loves Brown when in fact she flew private to Machu Picchu on fall break, with the horse hung son of a Norwegian shipping billionaire, and they have dropped out of their freshman year to join the student protests in Santiago Chile.

As luck would have it, [R153], I am the Australian. I've been laughing myself sick the whole evening at these seppos. The grub is shit but the tipple is free, know what I mean? I'm now feeling mellow and wondering whether I should ask the Red Indian where his squaw is or start chatting up that fit bird, Amber somebody. Yank women just love my accent! I'm dead certain she'll blow me in the dunny.

I'm the devotion to science. Just appeal to me and you will be instantly correct about everything. There is a possibility I could be wrong in the future, but who fucking cares? SCIENCE!

I am Countess Olympia von und zu Arco-Zinneberg popping in from Mummy's place in Connecticut. Despite having just married the direct heir of Napoleon III, I resemble the young Shelley Duvall if Duvall made all of her own clothes out of hemp. Kale salad? Yes please!

Speaking of hemp, I am the hemp table cloth and hemp napkins to be used in case guests prefer to compost the leaves rather than use them to wipe their mouths.

I am the gorgeous fox-trimmed suede coat worn by cousin Alissa who has been doing a Junior Year Abroad in Rome. She looks incredibly chic, with her Italian haircut, red lipstick and long nails and has apparently slimmed down to 105 lb on a Continental diet of espresso and cigarettes. The men are riveted and the women are spitting nails.

I'm the Deplorable shitstains feeling sorry for themselves on this thread and fabricating ANYTHING to distract from the Republican Party's corruption and imminent demise.

I am Cousin Amber, Cousin Alissa? I wouldn't say she's been around the block a couple of times, but her bedroom is registered as a cyclotron. It must be like flicking a Tic-Tac into Grand Central Terminal. You might as well stick it out the window and try to fuck the night.

I am Cousin Alissa. Cousin Amber? Well, she's really a bit of an unopened grave now, isn't she? She couldn't get a free fuck in a frankfurter factory. The only thing going in and out of her is a bat colony.

I am blood streaming from the fevered orifices of [R161] as the point of this thread - that very rich people, however well-intentioned, tend to be incredibly twee and self-obsessed - passes above their head at roughly the altitude of the Saturn Project.

I'm the Australian, convinced that these two lovely ladies at [R162] and [R163] will be up for a madcap threesome!

We are Amber and Alissa, united in our disgust for the gross drunk Australian with food stains down his front and his exposed belly hanging over his belt. He keeps leering and winking at us - EWWWWW!

I am the troublesome fact that no member of the leftist elite would be caught dead in a "fox-trimmed suede coat" no matter how gorgeous, because animal cruelty and that if said coat was worn, said animal cruelty would be the first thing anyone remarked on and it would be mentioned all night till poor Alissa burst into tears.

I think that is a testament to the fact that Alissa (and Amber) are not as woke as the rest of the clan.

Meh. Jane Fonda married billionaire Ted. Le gauche caviar.

I'm Karen. My husband and I brought the merlot, which also happens to be my favorite. I am an expert in anti-bias training with a Ph.D. in multicultural education, and I talk too much but everyone is too polite to interrupt me. Every white person in the US has what I like to call implicit bias due to our nation's racist history, so some of the guests were fortunate enough to have me guide them through several teachable moments throughout the Day of Harvest Festival. (Thanksgiving is a trigger word for the Native Americans among us.) I'm still working on that Australian, but as a foreigner, he's ignorant to the collective social and institutional power and privilege that he and other white people like him have over people of color in America, so he gets a pass.

Over tofurkey sprinkled with seeds of paradise, I tell the guests moving stories of the workplace seminars I have led throughout corporate America that challenge the deep seated social injustices of a system that was built only for white people. I tell them that in the sanctuaries I create, one of the rules is that white people, especially white women, should not cry. It attracts too much attention, and it may upset nonwhite participants, by evoking the long historical backdrop of black men being tortured and murdered because of a white woman’s distress. If I myself can’t resist shedding a tear for the oppression I have personally inflicted on POC due to my own existence, I will perform a ritual of abnegation. I try to cry quietly so that I don’t take up more space, and if people rush to comfort me, I do not accept the comfort.

But my husband hasn't even been listening. He wouldn't stop looking at his phone until it died about 45 minutes ago, but that's nothing new. He's been acting very strangely for the last 3 years, and I think it's because he's in the closet and having an affair with a man. When he finally comes out, I will not be angry, but happy, because he's finally living his truth as the gay man he's been since the very beginning, but was too uncomfortable to acknowledge from his ivory tower of white cisgendered male privilege. I will get the house in LA, the cats, and the Tesla parked outside. He'll get the super yacht and the penthouse in New York because gay men love New York. In 2 years, we'll go out for mimosas while kikiing about our love lives, and he'll become the best gay friend I never had. After our conscious uncoupling, my friends will tell me how brave I am for staying friends with my gay ex husband, and I will tell them that if you truly love someone, let them go.

"Whatever you do, don't site next to Karen/R170. She will talk non-stop the whole night."

I'm Cousin Amber again.

I'm rolling my eyes at Karen and her fucking spiel.

"Salut à tout le monde, sorry I can't be there, looks like you're having a fantastic meal!

Yes, I'm with Phil at the vineyard in Languedoc-Roussillon.

Well it's a grosse merde franchement, going BIO AOC -- non -- MDR je plaisante -- everything is fantastique! We hope to see next summer."

Translation - not only wouldn't we be caught dead in North Adams in November, Phil is still fucking that "boy" from Paris Sciences et Lettres he met last winter in Val d'Isere and I'm going to divorce him and stick him with this god-forsaken money pit vineyard. Et je ne vous appartiens pas !

Yeah, ole Jane got breast implants to please Ted and gave up her career to be with him. Shame it didn't work out.

I'm silently becoming attracted to the Australian guy but I don't dare admit it. There is just something about his reckless and kind of brave disregard for all things p.c.

Oh mercy! Going to tell everyone I'm stepping outside to see if there any homeless people of color - the white nationalist homeless people are on their own - who need a few dollars but the real reason is that Mr. Aussie is making me feel downright tingly and I need to cool off!

Whew!

Hi I am actor and director Rob Reiner. But you probably know me best by my incessant Tweeting. I'll be monitoring your opinions and thought process this evening. Better be on your liberal toes or else I start a Twitter thread about you.

Hi, I'm Ellen Page. Thanks for inviting me. I'm glad no one noticed the irony of my complaining about Chris Pratt's religious views to Stephen Colbert who identifies as Roman Catholic. (Let's not talk about it. 'kay?)

I'm the arrival of actual right wing comments. Well, we had a fairly good run.

I'm Cousin Amber, locking the door behind [R175]. Who the fuck was that wasted bitch anyway?

I'm R161, returning for my pound of Deplorable flesh.

I'm the straight white male silently wondering how many microaggressions I've committed since getting here. Is there anyone I can ask? They're all open to an honest discussion about race and gender, right?

I am completely overwhelmed just being in the same room as Karen. To the point of anxiety, not overwhelmed in a good way.

Let me save you some time R181. As far as all of us are concerned you are a human microaggression who can never, ever...EVER...redeem himself.

Would like some pumpkin pie for desert? :-)

R181 DON'T. White people are not a race, or a gender. White people aren't even people; we're a social construct. That's what my wife says. She's an expert on the topic. So just smile and say okay, but don't use the OK sign! That's racist. By the way, do you know who's winning the game? My phone died an hour ago.

I'm Karen's vibrator. She should use me more often.

How DARE all of you??

I'm the DESPERATE need for more whiskey and cigs after Karen's latest woke lecture. Hey, you wanna go out for some "fresh air" (i.e. behind the garage again)?

R186 Sorry, Karen.

R187 Okay, let's go. But we need to take a shower and wash our clothes afterward. If Karen gets one whiff of that third-hand smoke....

Just claim you were talking with Cousin Anastasia. She smokes like a house on fire. Why, this one time...

I'm the free-range, locally sourced food that is going to give everyone a giant case of the free-range, locally sourced shits in about two hours.

I'm clove cigarettes, I must be all natural, right?

I'm the bad Aussie, now feeling much better after chundering in the back yard. Ready for another go!

I am the ultimate solution to those not wanting to eat turkey meat nor the fakery and additives of tofurkey.

I am the micro-aggressions. Karen has been quietly filming me with her bodycam.

Right now,[bold] I am the ever so polite, neutral to the uninitiated, looks that kill on Esme and her sister Amelie[/bold] toward drunk Uncle Earl from bumfuck Alabama. I convey polite, inquisitive surprise at his ridicule of our rendition of a wordless Harvest Festival song on the zither. He keeps mocking the, laughing at his jokes.

I am now [bold]the aspic contenance on the mother of Esme and Amelie as she tells the hostess IN FRONT OF EVERYONE[/bold] - "I'm so sorry, my dear, but we'll be leaving early. It was a lovely Harvest Festival."

I am now the [bold]miss-it-if-you-blink supercilious expression hostess as she says "So sad to see you go, I think I saw your husband in the back with Anastasia."[/bold]

These microaggressions (with commentary) will be on Karen's Instagram tomorrow and will be dissected on the family chat group until Christmas - Winter Festival.

Uncle Edgar here again. I'm a bit cagey, and coolly scanning the room for the young drunk millenios, and stoners. I'm not as hip as I pretend to be at these things. I dread that those young women wearing those dodgy Moon Cups might beg of me a lift home. I'm not having any of that nonsense in the Rolls. I just had the Connolly hides sanded, buffed, and restored, for G-d's sake.

After this last whiskey, I'm gonna give these hippie kids the slip. I'll take leave as the French do, and thank my sister tomorrow over the phone. I refuse to feel guilty; as I'm sure the really Squiffy birds can catch a lift with YMF. After all, he's got vinyl in that Toyota he's tooling around in.

I'm Karen's husband, wondering whether now is a good time to tell her I have had a mistress for a long time and have fathered two children by her.

I am the gay son aged 26. I have mostly kept quiet during this festive gathering, mentally rolling my eyes at the smug and self-congratulatory pronouncements of my parents' lame friends. The men are all wimpy and about as appealing as a bowl of rice pudding. The only exception is the beefy cheerful drunk Australian, who is offending people left and right. I follow him into the back yard, and watch him barf up a deluge of food and alcohol. As he strolls back up to the house, burping loudly, I intercept him and say, "How about it?" He laughs drunkenly and replies, "Well, why the hell not? Go for your life, mate!" I unzip him and proceed to give him a killer blow job. He looks pretty thankful afterward, I must say.

I'm the wish to be at the Deplorable Thanksgiving instead which sounds way more fun than these shit heads.

I’m laughing at the thought of YMF driving mooncuppers home. How did he get stuck with that chore? 😂

What we lack in fun R199 we make up for with self-righteousness.

We're Sigourney Weaver and Julianne Moore, trying to remember the name of that other actress with red hair who used to be as famous as we are. And we can't!

I'm the respected elderly African American author who arrives late and brings my Jack Russell terrier. I am met with squeals of affection and a soupcon of side-eye concerning my bringing the dog.

I'm dinner. I'm cruelty-free.

I'm organic toilet paper. Use me in order to recreate the sensation of having your asshole waxed.

I'm the German pianist. I have finally stopped playing Bela Bartok and am now deep in an intense conversation with the young Guggenheim. We match up well physically and culturally and I am planning on suggesting we go upstairs and have sex. He is completely oblivious to this.

I'm Karen, in the middle of a monologue about the approximately 1001 things I find problematic about white males this week.

I'm the Australian, using the host's toothbrush to clear away the remains of my recent episode of technicolor laughter.

Hey - what he doesn't know won't hurt him, right?

I am the very elderly upper class white lady who used to do awareness and fundraising for Martin Luther King Jr.

He was the greatest Negro gentleman and orator I ever met.

Or fucked.

I am the Steinway. I have a wonky key. The pianist from Berlin would like to smash me, smash me.

I am the discussion about chakras. I need to be realigned.

I am the two teenage boys who were caught jerking off. We've decided to go for round two.

I am the conservatory. There are two teenage boys jerking off in me. They think nobody will find me in here.

I am the hostess. Karen has cornered me in the kitchen. She is giving me a gentle and thoroughly sympathetic talk about how demeaning it is to use Indian corn as a door decoration as it is a clear case of cultural appropriation and also mocks the hungry, who would be happy to gnaw on an ear of same. I have a split second of thinking how nice it would be to pick up the bottle of 48-year-old brandy I have just been drinking directly from and bring it down upon her fucking cunt head as hard as I can. I push the thought away - it must have been a fluke - and excuse myself politely, as I have an announcement to make in the Solidarity Room.

I am an 18th century sofa. I was bought with the proceeds of the slave trade. I currently support the delectable asses of Cousin Alissa and Cousin Amber. Having bonded over their loathing of the Australian, they are currently realizing that they have much in common and should actually be best friends. They are also fancying a discreet scissor session at some point. They are driving all the straight male guesst wild with the display of their shapely, stem-like legs.

I plan on sending two iron springs up their assholes.

I am the enormous beautiful Hudson River Valley School painting in a gilded frame. I depict an opulent Autumn wilderness showing a woodland, a stream and the remains of a rotting canoe. I am appreciated for my symbolic representation of the decay of natural order after the coming of the white man.

And, albeit less obviously, for my 20 million dollar estimate given by Sotheby's.

R200 YMF had introduced the Mooncups into the thread, so I was riffing on them to play with him for a bit. I cannot take credit for Uncle Edgar either, as I took him on from an earlier poster. Mooncups sound quite precarious! I could easily foresee terrible accidents! Vinyl wipes clean, etc...

Is Uncle Edgar a religious Jew, R196? If not why does he use a dash when he writes "G-d"?

I am everyone in the room wondering why Cousin Amber's parents gave her such a White Trash name.

More than half of us have had a conversation about it at some point over the past 20 years, often with lines like "Well at least they didn't name her 'Tiffany' or 'Britney'" to which the only proper reply is "You'd think she'd have a middle name or nickname she could use."

I am organic squash chiffon pie, light and delicate, topped with fresh-whipped cream and a light drizzle of maple syrup.

I am also known as "The evening's one redeeming feature".

R193 & R208 I've still got my eye you, you butch, masculine wonderfully offensive Australian guest!!! xxx ooo

[R219] I am the fortune in 18th century amber that was given by Amber's Russian jeweler godmother as a baptismal gift.

I’m the SJW holding court with the lecture rant for a couple of hours. Every dish is a cultural appropriation.

It's still the white version of Shaniqua R222

R218 Edgar isn't (necessarily) but I'm Jewish, and it's a habit, or a respectful tradition inculcated in me. I'm not as religious as I appear. It so happens, I do have an Uncle Edgar though, and he is very observant, so of course, there was no other way.

[R224] Her brother's name was Diamond.

They hate their parents.

R202? Julie? Suzy?

🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕

😠😡😠😡😠😡😠😡😠

I'm the words "appropriation," "colonialism" and privilege which Karen has used about 100 million times already, and we're only halfway through the day. This bitch is getting on everybody's last nerve.

Ha! That is awesome R226. Thanks for that.

Can't blame them.

I'm the hostess' very special announcement.

I sound like this.

We – myself, my life partner Nigel, our shared soulmate Tristan and our children, Xerxes, Lilith and Pluto – would like to thank you for honoring us with your presence at our annual Harvest Solstice Moon Banquet. We’d particularly like the thank our special guest, Dr. Little Furry Beaver, Professor of Archeology at the University of North Dakota, for agreeing to meet with us on this most special, yet fraught-with-unfortunate-implications nights. And all the rest of you – the teachers, the social workers, the pro-bono lawyers, the novelists, the activists, the doctors, the scientists, the artists, the actors – dear Julianne, dear Sigourney – the conservationists and poets and musicians and black people…all of you who are doing such wonderful work and mean so well and yet somehow Trump has not yet been shot through the fucking head, goddamn it…sorry, brief slip into the reality of the situation there…anyway we would all like to have a chance to tell you about our recently restored conservatory, which now has a kind of glass that makes it visible to migrating birds and is suitable for the all-year growth of native non-intrusive fruiting and vegetable plants, thus giving us – and we hope, America – a chance at food production on a micro scale that will change the way we own the bounty of our own tables.

My goodness, I am so embarrassed to be crying…I know, Karen, I know…Uncle Edgar – would you be so kind as to lead the way?

I'm Karen's 2019 eco-friendly Toyota Prius. I'm the one who everyone is silently hoping will go off the road at a high rate of speed, directly into the path of a very old and solid oak tree with only Karen inside.

Oh look. One of the Thanksgiving Day guest is disabling my air bags.

I am the moans of pleasure as two beautiful teenage boys strip entirely nude and start doing a whole lot more than just jerking off.

I'm the words "He's *very* handsome" followed by a cheshire cat smile from one of the female guests when Justin Trudeau's name is mentioned.

The other women will nod in agreement until out of the menfolk, aware he is somehow being dismissed at some level, will mention how woke Trudeau's policies are and what a contrast he is to Trump.

LMAO! R230!

Pluto!

I am shit.

I am about to hit the fan.

*through the closed and locked back porch door*

HEY! R230! WHAT ABOUT ME?? HUH? WHAT ABOUT ME???

YO!!!!

I am the NAMBLA member at R232 who has a whole defense based on the ancient Greeks and the erestes (erastes? orestes?)

Karen is sad that R237 was forced to join a special club in order to have safe space where he just be himself and deal with the illness that was thrust upon and that is not his fault.

YOU ALL LOOK VERY OLD FOR AGES!! ALL OF YOU!! I CAN SEE ALL OF YOUR LAUGH LINES!! ESPECIALLY YOU JULIE AND SUZY!!

*stomps off crunching through the dried leaves that are still on the ground because it would be disrespectful to their memories to rake them away and kicks Karen's 2019 eco-friendly Toyota Prius*

I am the hostess, instructed one of the household engineers (empowering!) to deliver a fully bio-degradable package containing all the suitable leftovers to the unfortunate homeless woman [R236] sleeping on the front porch.

I'm one of the straight white male guests who just referred to a transwoman as a "he." All hell is about to break loose on him from the other guests.

I am the arrival of the host and hostess and shared spiritual partner and their family and guests in the conservatory.

I am also two beautiful naked teenage boys 69ing on a cast-iron remembrance bench salvaged from a relocated cemetery.

I am also the bench.

i was enjoying the view until now.

I am one whole minute of silence.

Not even Karen says anything.

Thanks for turning a funny thread into kiddie porn, NAMBLA freak

i am the hostess' saving throw.

I sound like this:

Well, you know, harvest is about the collecting in of the results of fertility! And what could be more fertile than a teenage boy? Only (desperately tried to remember if the kids are legal) because we didn't want to encourage the patriarchal idea that a woman has to be necessarily present to receive the fecundity of a man...well...William and Trevor decided to throw this lovely display about how men can...

i am interrupted by Karen right about here.

I am [244]. I lack nuance.

Hi! I brought Rice Krispies Treats!!

Wait...what?...a throwback to a even more racist time? No! The marshmallows I used do not reflect my feelings of white supremacy! What kind of a question is tha...no! Snap, Crackle and Pop are not a smear on little people. Crackle is a reference to crack and therefore racist? Crack cocaine didn't exist when Crackle was created...fuck this! I'm leaving!

I am Karen's hysteria that anything to do with a penis can never ever, ever be part of a holiday, Never!

To [R237] and [R244]

I am not a NAMBLA freak. I am completely uninterested in teenage boys. Having been one myself, I can attest that they suck.

I am also the realization that teenage can mean "over 18" and that boys that age can be very attractive, having achieved a growth of manhood.

They are still stupid and boring and unfuckable.

Get in touch with me when you're in your 30s and we'll talk.

i am looking for "humiliation conga" in this scenario.

Anyway, since it is seems to be unfunny, let's move on with other worst case scenarios. I'm favoring the murder of Karen.

r247- Good one, LOL!

I'm cousin Jenny. Just got back from the warm beaches of Cali, where I had a whirlwind romance- and my 5th abortion! Hey, I didn't know you could get preggers in the water! And I've gotta keep my figure Insta-perfect, or else I might lose followers!

...And I'm a big hit at this party, per usual! Karen and all love me for excising my right to get laid without consequence...well, except for the preggers thing. But, I took care of that. ;-)

I'm Albert, a wizard of wall-street and a happy family man. But, I'm so glad Karen showed up so I can tell her thank you for all her empowering pro-choice Instagram posts. After I showed them to my sexy wife, it was so much easier to conjole her into an abortion. Sure, it was my idea and not hers, but a baby at our age?! Nuh uh!

Thanks, Jenny!

I'm Albert, a wizard of wall-street and a happy family man. But, I'm so glad Jenny showed up so I can tell her thank you for all her empowering pro-choice Instagram posts. After I showed them to my sexy wife, it was so much easier to conjole her into an abortion. Sure, it was my idea and not hers, but a baby at our age?! Nuh uh!

Thanks, Jenny!

r255 "conjole?"

I'm the lengthy discussion about how great Ta-Nehisi Coates' new novel is. Even though nobody could get past the first 5 paragraphs while browsing at Barnes & Noble.

I'm farm fresh local honey, used to glaze the parsnips Sigourney thoughtfully sent over the day before.

We're thinking of getting a case of hives ourselves!

I'm the elaborate roofline of the jaw-dropping Victorian mansion in Tuxedo Park. I look fantastic, but tend to leak.

What you need is a case of shingles!

Uncle Edgar, are you also British or Aussie, in addition to Jewish? I've never heard an American use "Squiffy birds."

Darling, I am Transatlantic. When one is in theatre, one picks up certain luvvie-isms.

[quote]I'm cousin Jenny. Just got back from the warm beaches of Cali, where I had a whirlwind romance- and my 5th abortion!

Cali is more than 50 miles from the sea, so there are no beaches there. Could you have meant Barranquilla or Cartagena? Surprisingly, Colombia doesn't have that many well-known beaches.

No less than five people this evening have told me to shut up! WELL I NEVER IN ALL MY LIFE!

We're the AMAB nonbinary polyamorous throuple from this thread. We trust that our three rescue ferrets, Foucault, Derrida, and Lacan, are welcome here as well!

[quote]No less than five people this evening have told me to shut up!

Preemptively "oh dear"-ing myself for "less" rather than "fewer," but sometimes high dudgeon makes one forget the finer aspects of the lovely graces!

Hi, I'm Lena Dunham. I have turned your leftist elite "party" into an all out rave just by being here. They don't come any more left or elitist than me. There is only one of me and baby that's the fun of *suh-nap!* Oh good! *taking off her coat* I'm sure you'd all like to hear about all of the things that offended me on the ride over here alone, I'll get to how my morning went later.

Hi, I'm Taylor Swift. There aren't any MEN here, are there?

I am the locks on the front door.

I will be changed tomorrow.

I am Cousin Whisper. I have been a Moonie, belonged to the Hari Krishnas and survived Jonestown. I am still the insufferable bore the rest of the family hates and secretly wishes I had drunk the poison koolaide along with the rest of the cult.

I am the enormous Siamese cat, Equinox. I resent the intrusion into what is rightfully my home by this tribe of fools and will show my displeasure by shitting in the closet for the next two weeks.

Pet me and lose an eyelid.

I am the JYA Yale student just back from Europe. I cannot stop talking about how much better every single fucking thing is in Europe to the point that the Native American guest almost says "So when will you all finally be going back?"

I am the dawning realization on the part of the pianist that the young Guggenheim is, in fact, straight.

I am partially dulled by another trip to the bar.

I am the passing thought that having fiddled with Karen's airbag, I should probably go in full bore and cut her brake lines too.

I am cousin Esme and her zither. I wear a lavender leotard and tulle, and although I eschew make-up, I always arrive with my hawthorn crown atop my graying curls. I occasionally implore men to call me Selene. This is the first of many, many red flags.

I am Edward Gorey.

I swear I had nothing to do with any of these people.

Guadalupe again, from R46

This crazy Karen bitch told me that she was a Mayan princess in another life.

For real.

You notice white people are never just housewives or market stall ladies when they have past lives. They're always warriors or princesses or both.

I am tipsy enough to tell her that I will speak to her in the Mayan tongue to see if it brings up any memories.

She is over the top delighted and announces this to the group.

Fortunately no one speaks any Mayan so I can throw in a few words of Garífuna from some songs I remember (it's not Mayan but no one will know) and throw in some low class slang and get away with it.

This should be fun.

[quote]I am Cousin Whisper. I have been a Moonie, belonged to the Hari Krishnas and survived Jonestown.

I understand Stephen Sondheim is planning to write a song along these lines for the updated version of "Follies."

I am the Van Osburgh Family. I built this house and this collection of idiots are my descendants.

I could currently power a turbine big enough to provide power state-wide simply from the spinning I am doing in my fucking family plot.

[quote]I am Cousin Whisper. I have been a Moonie, belonged to the Hari Krishnas and survived Jonestown.

Wasn't that a character in one of the [italic]Tales of the City[/italic] books? Oh, wait, that was Dorothea.

I am the icy, stone-cold silence at the dinner table when a guest offhandedly comments that perhaps Alexandria Octavia-Cortez doesn't know as much as she thinks she does.

Why is Karen's left eye suddenly twitching?

You like me, you really like me!!!...oh wait, that was Sally Field, wasn't it..never mind

[quote]I am Cousin Whisper. I have been a Moonie, belonged to the Hari Krishnas and survived Jonestown. I am still the insufferable bore the rest of the family hates and secretly wishes I had drunk the poison koolaide along with the rest of the cult.

Everything but the bloodhounds snappin' at her rear end.

Karen LUNGES for R280!!!

Karen hurts herself in the process and guests have R280 arrested on domestic assault charges.

I am FiFi the poodle. Now that the guests have been arrested, Im up on the holiday table eating everything...tomorrow, when the guest have been let out of jail on pre trial release, I will have pooped so much diarrhea, the guest will think they had a surprise visit from our Darfur orphan.

I am cousin Jenny's friend, Mackenzie, a sugar baby. I am currently looking at 'Wall Street Wizard' Albert while absently pulling the lower corner my mouth with my index finger. All this means - I want a real connection - which means monthly payments.

OMG, Albert just gave me Chapstick. So I am now focusing drunk Uncle Earl from bumfuck Alabama, he must have real money 'cause who would have invited him otherwise.

R260, R261 Is NOT the Uncle Edgar, R196 , who posted about squiffy birds with mooncups attempting to ride in the Rolls. I'm not of the theatre, or any of the related arts really. Brit here, (and a Jew) and don't really feel squiffs or squiffy birds is "luvvie-talk" either. (whatever the fuck that even is) R261 Have you no imagination of your own?

[R286], Well, as I am both [R261] and the original Uncle Edgar, Rolls Royce and all...I might well ask the same thing of you.

Uncle Edgar is American with a theater background. So his use of British slang would be an affectation that most likely reflects his work with British stage actors, known as "luvvies".

[R284] STAND AWAY FROM THE TABLE.

THAT SHIT IS MINE.

AND I WILL CUT A BITCH.

R287 You may have made allusion to an Uncle Edgar, and imagined him, however you hadn't created any first-person post signed "Uncle Edgar". I already gave you credit for the character, (cheers, again), as well as to YMF for the mooncups intro. It's just a bit weak and disingenuous to reply to another poster, after R260 specifically directed his reply to me is all. Just seems a bit of an interloper thing to do really. BTW, for your repository and edification: birds and squiffy, or getting squiffed have nothing to do with theatrical speech, or affectation. They're actually slang favoured by cockneys, average persons of the middle class, working class, and chavs.

I thought your additions to his character were very funny and don't mind if people run riffs with my ideas. But for your repository and edification, if they are "lower-class" words, than the American Uncle Edgar would probably not be using them, unless he did so ironically. This is a fairly upper-class affair, after all, and Edgar must be in his 70s if he had a fling with Roddy McDowell. He'd probably be borrowing words from whatever the UK stage slang was during the post-war period.

I'm the writer from Town & Country! What did I miss?

R290. No harm, no foul... I should put a finer point on my rebuttal. They're not terms of the lower class per se, but neither are they at all considered affected speech, or anything remotely theatrical is all. There are slang terms we use that are specific to the upper crust, and I do agree with you these are not amongst them. I think the pister having the dialogue with me was asking if I, the poster, rather than your character was both A Jew, and a Brit, or Aussie.

It isn't a compliment where I'm from to refer to someone as speaking in a theatrical manner. We also don't say or write Rolls-Royce, just Rolls, or the Rolls, BTW. Most Americans who buy them are also not of the upper class. (They're beautifully designed, but terrible cars actually.)

I am aware that theatrical speech is often are seen as annoying in the UK - it would have a more novelty value here. Also that the Rolls-Royce would be seen as gauche, as it is in Edgar's case (I expect his Anglophilia got away with him). Upper class cars here tend to be non-descript. I'm thinking ten-year old Volvos for the woke types.

Hi, I'm George Clooney. I decided to come to your party. You're welcome.

YUMMO!

I always have a great time with my leftie friends, some smoke too much pot for my tastes but it's all a grand time.

Darn! I have to take a break from my list of ways I have been offended on this one particular day alone but I have Tweet an apology for getting Darfur mixed up with Dufur, Oregon.

My bad! Again!

Okay, that's all taken care of. Now, let's play a new game. It's kind of like charades but it's called - Karen stop giving that heterosexual white male the evil eye for no reason and pay attention, you will love this! - , "How You Hurt Me in Five Words or Less".

We each act out how and why we were offended and after someone correctly guesses who hurt you and how the guilty party is sent to a dark room to feel shame and remorse for about 45 minutes, And then the guilty party has to walk around for the rest of the day with a "I Think It's Okay to Hurt Others" sign around their neck.

*that hunky Australian hasn't given me the once-over, hasn't looked at my breasts, nothing. He has had no reaction to me. I will be posting about this incident on Instagram later*

I'm shitting in your hands and clapping vigorously.

I'm what sounds like more fun, Lena.

You have hurt and offended me R299! Eeewww! Grossly underpaid woman of color who is working as a maid for the host and hostess? Could please direct me to the bathroom? Thanks. Now please wash my hands for me...what is that look for?

I am a household engineer, bitch.

Whatever Cleany McCleanerson, just get this shit off my hands, what do they pay you for anywa....oh. no....someone's filming me with their phone that has a 'I am anti-Trump' phone case!

How many Tweets is it gonna take to get out of this one???

Who's the fat sheila with the all the tats ?

Excuse me, she is "an illustrated person".

"An Illustrated Person" - LMAO!!!

*Oh! Oh my God! The Australian noticed me!!!!

AND...he just gave me an early Holiday Season present!!

Okay, okay, just breathe. So; he called me fat, he addressed me by another woman name - where do I start? Twitter? Instagram? An on-camera interview? Weight shaming, all women look alike to him, typical het white male, I am so hurt by this, just another example of what noble women have to endure...the possibilities are endless!

Thank you Australian man!! Thank you!!

Lena is BACK bitches!! (Good thing I only said 'bitches' in my mind'.)"

I am Julianne Moore and Sigourney Weaver.

Kids these days.

*Lena's arteries pulsate with rage at Julianne and Sigourney*

Julianne Moore was behind the movement to rename JEB Stuart HS in Falls Church to “Justice HS”. I can’t say it, it sounds so silly.

Just Us High School??? JUST US?? Julianne Moore is a Trump-loving white nationalist!!

I am Lena’s cholesterol number. I am 500

Uncle Earl here, two quarts of bourbon in and I wanna play 'Who Hurt Me.'

Thank you Karen - at least you make some sweet cash peddling your mumbo jumbo, admire your hustle, like that

"I am very hurt by having to deposit money in the checking accounts of certain people in this here room, and by having to spend money on expensive gifts like that sweet pee-Ah-no. At least the Euro is playing, cause none of us do, it was picked out by some lady furniture shopper … decorator, thank you.

I work in Alabama, at the family chicken processing plant. We raise them in overcrowded sheds, fatten them on hormones and scald 'em to remove the feathers. We hire illegals and bribe ICE to look the other way. WE INVENTED CHICKEN BYPRODUCTS. The only one who supervises that operation is me - the rest of you left me alone in Belle Poulet to put on airs like fancy nancies a long time ago.

Hey, sis, the only reason you married into the Van Osburgh family was Dad writing them a big check.

Edgar, you are my brother and I love you but if you have to give Mooncups a ride, suck it up. I drink to get the smell of scalded feathers off of me.

Oh...McKenzie, unlike Albert, I know what you're soliciting. A sugar baby is a whore. And I agree, a woman has control of her body, it's just I can do better than you, for less in Bama.

I'm the husband's side of the family, gasping and tittering through Uncle Earl's monologue.

In truth, we agree with every single word and always thought Alexander could have done better.

r312 I am the REAL Uncle Earl from post r25. I think you have had too much bourbon and forgot who you are....hopefully when the booze wears off you will remember

r314 - in vino veritas

Hello? Is there a reason I wasn't invited to this White Man's Genocide celebration?

It's because I'm fat, isn't it? Or is it because I'm fat and gay?? It's so hard to be me! Every time I turn around the world wants to to be unfair to me! *wipes tears off with five $100.00 dollar bills. blots eyes with short of adopted kid*

Short = shirt.

*wipes tears off with five $100.00 dollar bills. blots eyes with shit of adopted kid*

There. Fixed it once and for all.

I'm the tarot reading.

I'm...intense.

I'm red lentils!

Tonight I am jam!

I'm Hands Across America 2020!!

I am Boris, so glad that all of you patriot people hates the liberals like I do. Thanks you for being patriots. I come to your dinner and I eats your food and all is good. Thanks you!

^ Wrong thread, buddy.

I'm [R322]'s inability to appreciate the value in self-satire.

I'm known as Dumb Cunt to my friends.

I'll bring over the stuffing!

This would make one damned funny movie. I'm mentally casting it as we speak.

It's like Gosford Park, only everybody is a moron!

r323: Right thread, comrad.

If you want to use the word to insult someone, learn how to spell comrade, comrad.

Haysoos Christos, is it at all impossible to laugh at over-the-top virtue signaling without being accused of being a Deplorable, a Russian or both?

I'm the six tickets issued for the clowns driving home, three of whom blow double legal limit in the breath test.