Wednesday, November 24, 2004
giving thanks
Once in a great while a letter comes along that so captures the essence of a holiday that with the passing of time it becomes almost synomous for the event. The letter is so insightful, and so captures the spirit of the holiday that it stands as a symbol of the holiday.
"Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus" comes to mind as an obvious example involving Christmas. And I'm fairly certain that one of those epistles that Peter or Paul or one of those other old guys wrote to the Corinthians or Romans or whoever said something really cool about Easter.
"But," my dear reader I'm sure you asking the Good Doctor Noyz right now, "what about Thanksgiving?"
Well fear not, my dear reader.
The World's Greatest Robot Monkey Loving Private Dectective, Johnny Misfortune, has written just the thing to fit the bill. It was originally sent in the form of an e-mail. I have Golatron 3000 to thank for preserving these words of profound wisdom and passing them along to me.
On a more personal note, I would like to thank Johnny Misfortune for introducing me to the world of blogging when he showed me this literary marvel following a night of small town drinking now nigh on two years past. I have been a fan and regular reader of his tales of pirates, clowns, werewolves, and mayhem ever since.
As it is the time of year for such things, let's all pause and give thanks: for our families, for our friends, and for one helluva damn fine human being, Johnny Misfortune.
_______________
From: Johnny Misfortune
Sent: Friday, November 24, 2000 1:46 AM
Subject: Let's all stop to give thanks. Or, whatever happened to Charlene Tilton?
Importance: High
While the rest of my family is rushing to stop the bleeding nose of one of our surly midget guests from soaking into our new indoor-outdoor carpeting (Yes, Grandma Jebens punched a midget again - or as we like to call them, "those ungrateful wee drunken bastards"), I thought I would take a quick moment to ask that we all pause and reflect on the true meaning of Thanksgiving.
I know, I know, you're all saying, "Pipe down, you pecan pie-addled idjit, we all know what the true meaning of Thanksgiving is. It's the holiday where we invite the neighbors over to ply them with corn on the cob (which our Native American friends called "maize on the cob"), cheap wine, Marlboro cigarettes which our Native American friends called "tobaccy") and turkey, lulling them into a false sense of security whilst our shiftless cousins sneak next door to steal their television. Also, it's the one day of the year where booze is free for all midgets and orphans. Unless they're from France."
But I think Miles Standish said it best, that first Thanksgiving ever when he said, "Gather 'round, our new Native American friends, so that we might better share our bounty - which we Puritans call 'small pox' - and eat yer food, and gaze in wide wonder at your woman-folk, unfettered as they are by the Old World invention we call the brassiere. Now go away boys, yer bothering me. It's almost kick off time in Detroit."
Nowadays, though, we're a little wiser and more civilized, of course, and so we would use the phrase "Stinkin' Injun" in place of "Native American."
And "patsies" in place of "friends."
But I think you know where I'm a gettin' at.
I'm talking about universal love and brotherness. I'm talking about taking some time to ponder the plight of the orphans and the midgets. And yes, even our primate friends - monkeys, gorillas, baboons or whatever that ape is whose butt gets all red when it's sexually aroused - Julio, you know what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the REAL spirit of Thanksgiving.
If Deon Sanders were still preaching in Dallas, I'm sure he'd flash some gold rings, throw some metal, oggle the women-folk and say the same thing.
I'm talking about spreading the love, people. I'm talking about taking the time to be the man who IS willing to give his life for his fellow man. I'm talking about taking the time to really, truly BE the Black private dick that's a sex machine to all the chicks.
'Cause that's what Thanksgiving is all about. It's all about spreading the love. It's all about not resorting to cannibalism moments after your plane-ful of soccer buddies crahses in the Andes, but rather waiting until you're really, really hungry. It's all about pausing amidst the ritual stuffing of our faces, gourging of the horn o' plenty and burning of witches that everyone indulges in every Thanksgiving, barely taking the time to stop and ponder why, in the overall scheme of things, we're celebrating this particular way at this particular time. Sure, everyone loves those goofy costumes the Pilgrims wore, and the next time we burn a witch in Grapevine, I'm bringing the popcorn, but let's turn down the Slipknot for a goddamn second Grandma and ease off the hookah and think about the meaning of Thanksgiving for just one second.
Break the word down into its component parts, split Thanksgiving down the middle, and what do you have? You've got "Thanksgi" and "Ving" And in that spirit, I ask that we all attempt to set aside our all-consuming hatred of the English and Bonnie Prince Charley for one second and extend the back-stabbing hand of friendship to our neighbor - no matter if that neighbor be a filthy Irishman, or a drunken midget or Grandma rocking out to Slipknot again when I told her to turn that goddamn shit down or even an ape with a sexually aroused ass (Julio) - and say, "Hey, buddy, YOU are all right."
Which is all my way of saying to you all, "I love you all like the brothers and sisters I wish I never had." And I mean that.
Maybe it WAS Tiny Tim (rumored to be both an orphan and a midget) who said it best, when he muttered, "God bless us ... each and every one."
Which is a lovely quote, true, but I think there's one that even better sums up the true meaning of this day of days ... It's a quote from Michael Caine as Homer Simpson in the film "The Cider House Rules" (the best thinly veiled pro-choice allegory with orphans where Charleze Theron gets naked since probably "Reindeer Games" or maybe "Mighty Joe Young.") where Mr. Caine imitates a pirate and tucks all the orphans into bed for the evening and says, "Good night you Princes of Maine, you Kings of New York. Sleep tight. ‘Cause tomorrow we sells the lot of ye to the glue factory. Arrr."
Amen, brother.
Okay, back to the turkey, you filthy injuns.
- Johnny Misfortune
_______________
That was beautiful man, just beautiful.
I have lots to be thankful for.
Happy Thanksgiving to one and all from The Good Doctor Noyz, The Wife, and The Boy.
|
"Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus" comes to mind as an obvious example involving Christmas. And I'm fairly certain that one of those epistles that Peter or Paul or one of those other old guys wrote to the Corinthians or Romans or whoever said something really cool about Easter.
"But," my dear reader I'm sure you asking the Good Doctor Noyz right now, "what about Thanksgiving?"
Well fear not, my dear reader.
The World's Greatest Robot Monkey Loving Private Dectective, Johnny Misfortune, has written just the thing to fit the bill. It was originally sent in the form of an e-mail. I have Golatron 3000 to thank for preserving these words of profound wisdom and passing them along to me.
On a more personal note, I would like to thank Johnny Misfortune for introducing me to the world of blogging when he showed me this literary marvel following a night of small town drinking now nigh on two years past. I have been a fan and regular reader of his tales of pirates, clowns, werewolves, and mayhem ever since.
As it is the time of year for such things, let's all pause and give thanks: for our families, for our friends, and for one helluva damn fine human being, Johnny Misfortune.
_______________
From: Johnny Misfortune
Sent: Friday, November 24, 2000 1:46 AM
Subject: Let's all stop to give thanks. Or, whatever happened to Charlene Tilton?
Importance: High
While the rest of my family is rushing to stop the bleeding nose of one of our surly midget guests from soaking into our new indoor-outdoor carpeting (Yes, Grandma Jebens punched a midget again - or as we like to call them, "those ungrateful wee drunken bastards"), I thought I would take a quick moment to ask that we all pause and reflect on the true meaning of Thanksgiving.
I know, I know, you're all saying, "Pipe down, you pecan pie-addled idjit, we all know what the true meaning of Thanksgiving is. It's the holiday where we invite the neighbors over to ply them with corn on the cob (which our Native American friends called "maize on the cob"), cheap wine, Marlboro cigarettes which our Native American friends called "tobaccy") and turkey, lulling them into a false sense of security whilst our shiftless cousins sneak next door to steal their television. Also, it's the one day of the year where booze is free for all midgets and orphans. Unless they're from France."
But I think Miles Standish said it best, that first Thanksgiving ever when he said, "Gather 'round, our new Native American friends, so that we might better share our bounty - which we Puritans call 'small pox' - and eat yer food, and gaze in wide wonder at your woman-folk, unfettered as they are by the Old World invention we call the brassiere. Now go away boys, yer bothering me. It's almost kick off time in Detroit."
Nowadays, though, we're a little wiser and more civilized, of course, and so we would use the phrase "Stinkin' Injun" in place of "Native American."
And "patsies" in place of "friends."
But I think you know where I'm a gettin' at.
I'm talking about universal love and brotherness. I'm talking about taking some time to ponder the plight of the orphans and the midgets. And yes, even our primate friends - monkeys, gorillas, baboons or whatever that ape is whose butt gets all red when it's sexually aroused - Julio, you know what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the REAL spirit of Thanksgiving.
If Deon Sanders were still preaching in Dallas, I'm sure he'd flash some gold rings, throw some metal, oggle the women-folk and say the same thing.
I'm talking about spreading the love, people. I'm talking about taking the time to be the man who IS willing to give his life for his fellow man. I'm talking about taking the time to really, truly BE the Black private dick that's a sex machine to all the chicks.
'Cause that's what Thanksgiving is all about. It's all about spreading the love. It's all about not resorting to cannibalism moments after your plane-ful of soccer buddies crahses in the Andes, but rather waiting until you're really, really hungry. It's all about pausing amidst the ritual stuffing of our faces, gourging of the horn o' plenty and burning of witches that everyone indulges in every Thanksgiving, barely taking the time to stop and ponder why, in the overall scheme of things, we're celebrating this particular way at this particular time. Sure, everyone loves those goofy costumes the Pilgrims wore, and the next time we burn a witch in Grapevine, I'm bringing the popcorn, but let's turn down the Slipknot for a goddamn second Grandma and ease off the hookah and think about the meaning of Thanksgiving for just one second.
Break the word down into its component parts, split Thanksgiving down the middle, and what do you have? You've got "Thanksgi" and "Ving" And in that spirit, I ask that we all attempt to set aside our all-consuming hatred of the English and Bonnie Prince Charley for one second and extend the back-stabbing hand of friendship to our neighbor - no matter if that neighbor be a filthy Irishman, or a drunken midget or Grandma rocking out to Slipknot again when I told her to turn that goddamn shit down or even an ape with a sexually aroused ass (Julio) - and say, "Hey, buddy, YOU are all right."
Which is all my way of saying to you all, "I love you all like the brothers and sisters I wish I never had." And I mean that.
Maybe it WAS Tiny Tim (rumored to be both an orphan and a midget) who said it best, when he muttered, "God bless us ... each and every one."
Which is a lovely quote, true, but I think there's one that even better sums up the true meaning of this day of days ... It's a quote from Michael Caine as Homer Simpson in the film "The Cider House Rules" (the best thinly veiled pro-choice allegory with orphans where Charleze Theron gets naked since probably "Reindeer Games" or maybe "Mighty Joe Young.") where Mr. Caine imitates a pirate and tucks all the orphans into bed for the evening and says, "Good night you Princes of Maine, you Kings of New York. Sleep tight. ‘Cause tomorrow we sells the lot of ye to the glue factory. Arrr."
Amen, brother.
Okay, back to the turkey, you filthy injuns.
- Johnny Misfortune
_______________
That was beautiful man, just beautiful.
I have lots to be thankful for.
Happy Thanksgiving to one and all from The Good Doctor Noyz, The Wife, and The Boy.
|
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