Ah, a traditional Thanksgiving dinner, where the wife does all the work and the husband just carves the bird, then watches football. But this year, our Thanksgiving was nothing like this scene. Not even close.
Every year for as far back as I can remember, we’ve had company for Thanksgiving. But for the first time in our 31 years of marriage, we’d be quietly celebrating alone, just the two of us – and our cats. Where were our daughters? I guess, being adults and having their own incomes inspired them to make other plans. We will cherish their texts from Florida.
Then the day before Thanksgiving, we received an invitation from two friends whom I will call “Dave” and “Susan” (out of respect for Terry’s and Sharon’s privacy), to join them dining out for Thanksgiving.
Of course, I had to decline this generous offer. I had already made exciting plans to prepare Michele a home-cooked meal of microwaved turkey pot pies with peas, accompanied by Uncle Ben’s rice pilaf. Strangely, my wife questioned my thinking: “Excuse me? You declined??? What’s wrong with you? “So, you would rather eat genetically mutated turkey bits and plastic peas than join our friends for the real thing? Call him back and tell him YES, you idiot.” Technically, she didn’t actually say “you idiot.” But I’m fairly certain she was thinking it.
The plan was to enjoy the special Thanksgiving Day All-You-Can-Eat buffet at the Tulalip Casino. The restaurant did not take reservations. First come, first served. We arrived at what we thought was a reasonable hour: 1:00 p.m. I gave my keys to the valet and we headed inside the casino. I was surprised to see hundreds of people playing the slot machines. Maybe I’m just old-fashioned, but nothing says Thanksgiving like playing the Beyoncé-dollar slots. (more…)
Here’s your daily briefing from Trump News Network(formerly known as Fox News).
Stunning Midterm Election Victory
The midterms are over, and President Trump is basking in the glow of a historic Republican triumph. The Democrats were trounced in almost every congressional election (if you don’t count the lone exception of the House of Representatives). “We would have won every single House and Senate contest if it weren’t for massive voter fraud perpetrated by Democrats everywhere,” said the President. “In fact, the Democrats blatantly attempted to steal some races by forcing the polling stations to count all the votes. This is an outrage,” he added.
Trump Ranked Most Popular President Among Women
It’s official. In a poll of blue-collar women with a 4th grade education who think Jews are the problem, 65% said Trump was the best president for women ever. “What can I say,” said a clearly pleased Trump. “Women love me. And I love the ladies – so long as they’re at least an 8, of course.”
In a related poll, taken by the TNN (Trump News Network), more blacks admire President Trump than any other president since Barack Obama. When asked why he is so loved by people of color, Mr. Trump humbly reflected, “I’m the least racist person you’ll ever meet. Negroes love me. Just ask Kanye.”
The Fight to Keep our Southern Borders Safe
Pentagon officials have confirmed the president’s marching orders to send 500,000 troops to the Mexican border over the next two weeks, admitting that it will mean diverting all remaining troops from the Middle East and South Korea. “You have to send our fighting men where the threat’s the greatest,” said history’s greatest military genius.
TNN has confirmed that the maniacal horde is already less than 1,200 miles from an imminent invasion. Based on rough estimates the President made while playing Candy Crush, if the Honduran terrorist caravan averages 100 miles a day on foot, they’ll reach our borders by Thanksgiving. By then, the US military should have the nuclear warheads in position. “Who knows what kinds of deadly weapons those 13-year-old girls might have stuffed in their Hello Kitty back packs? And a rock could poke someone’s eye out!” the president warned.
According to administration sources, spy planes have identified some of the vilest criminals among their ranks, including George Soros, the 2018 Super Bowl-winning Philadelphia Eagles who snubbed the president’s invitation to the White House, and Rosie O’Donnell. “They must be stopped, especially Rosie,” Trump tweeted.
Thanks to President Trump’s courageous concern for the safety of our nation’s fearful white citizens, our southern borders are at long last secure. “Next up will be a wall to protect our Eastern border,” said the Commander-in-Chief. (more…)
I hope you all are sitting down, because I have some unbelievable news. According to a poker buddy of mine, who heard it from his bowling teammate, who read it on a fortune cookie, I am on the short list for the Nobel Prize for Literature! It is all thanks to my hilarious, only moderately offensive satirical coloring book, I’m So Sick of White Guys – available at fine bookstores everywhere, as well as a few fly-by-night operations I’d suggest steering clear of.
While my endowment is not yet official, I figured I should work on my acceptance speech, so I’m fully prepared when I do get the call. To be honest, I did not see this coming. Oh, sure, I figured I’d eventually win a Pulitzer for my award-deserving humor writing. Heck, my piece called Don’t Let Your Dishwasher Destroy Your Marriagealone should have garnered me that trophy. But a Nobel? Now you’re making me blush.
I’ve long envisioned receiving that life-changing call from the Nobel Committee. I’ll admit, in my mind I was being honored for my accomplishments in a more popular category, such as physics or chemistry. If only I’d stayed awake during chemistry class or even audited a physics course. I blame my high school guidance counselor for leading me astray astray toward majoring in the Humanities.
What I really had my heart set on was the Peace Prize – the big enchilada. Talk about impressing my racquetball buddies! But the committee probably gained access to my pre-school transcript (I thought it was sealed) and learned of my recess scuffle with Cindy O’Connor. That undoubtedly took me out of contention. I maintain I was within my rights to pull her hair and put a frog in her lunchbox after she gave me a card with hearts drawn all over it. Yuck! But I digress.
Back to my acceptance speech. It’s merely a first draft, so I’m open to any suggestions to punch it up a bit.
“Dear Nobel Committee, friends, esteemed guests, View from the Bleachers readers, United Nations General Assembly, my new Bestie President Obama, the original cast of Glee, and Cindy O’Connor, whom I hereby formally forgive for giving me a mushy card.(more…)
Do you know the distance from my house to the South Pole? Of course, you don’t. But I do. That’s because I recently erected a giant sign pole complete with weather vane in my front yard that displays the direction and distance to several far-flung places, including the South Pole. How far is it from our house here on Camano Island, Washington to say, Cape Town, South Africa? Glad you asked: 10,199 miles southeast. Distance to Pitcairn Island? 5,022 miles almost due south. Moscow, Russia? I have no idea. But I can see Russia from my back door, so no matter.
For years, I’ve been fascinated by those rustic towering poles with signs pointing to remote locales like Timbuktu (yes, that’s an actual place). Maybe it’s the wanderlust in me or my long-held interest in maps. Or perhaps I’ve read too many National Geographic articles about the lost tribes of Borneo. Whatever the reason, I decided to plant one of these (poles, not Borneans) in our yard as a fun conversation piece. Prior to this project, the only thing quirky about our house was my wife’s husband.
I asked my wife if she’d be okay if I built one of these and gave it a prominent location on our front yard. To my amazement, she did not protest in the slightest. Even when she woke from her nap, and I asked her again, she was still moderately amenable. She had just two conditions: first, I had to promise to not do a sloppy job. Second, I could not try to conscript her assistance with this fool’s errand. Deal, I said, knowing all too well there was no way I would live up to the second condition.(more…)
I recently took a trip back in time, and it did not require inventing a time machine or ingesting any hallucinatory drugs. I simply drove ten miles to a quirky, iconoclastic place in the middle of nowhere called Chumleighland in the Woods. It was named in honor of its owner, Reverend Chumleigh – who, I soon discovered, is not an actual reverend nor is that his real name. So why is it called Chumleighland? Heck if I know. Why did God make the Duck-Billed Platypus? There are some questions to which we may never find the answer.
What a fascinating, strange visit it turned out to be. My wife and I had seen small ads in the local newspaper about this odd-sounding place hidden away in the forest near the southern tip of our island. We had no idea what to expect. We followed Google Maps but when it announced, “You have arrived,” we could not locate anything resembling a building, a park, or even traces of previous human contact.
Suddenly, I spied a tiny sliver of a clearing in the woods, barely wide enough for a refrigerator, with a closed gate. Then out of the thicket emerged an older chap with long grey hair and a scraggly beard. He gave off a Gandalf meets Jerry Garcia kind of vibe. He donned a t-shirt that read “It’s Mueller Time” and featured a cartoon rendering of Robert Mueller in cool-looking sunglasses. “Do you know how we get to Chumleighland?” I asked uncertainly. “Just drive into the grove. Park anywhere and follow the torches. Oh, and watch out for the cats.” That was my introduction to the good Reverend Chumleigh.
We parked by a massive oak tree, as there was no parking lot. Dutifully, we followed the torch-lit path, which meandered beside a miniature train track, like what you’d see at a children’s petting zoo. “Oh, the train should be running again by next week. I just have to clear some felled trees,” explained our ebullient host. Somehow that almost made sense to me.(more…)
