Live Thanksgiving Blogging*


That’s right kiddies, your humble scribe will blog his way through this gorge-fest of a holiday.  So buckle up, it might get rough. 

Read all about the Sarcastro family dinners where no one is spared from painfully cutting comments and the dredging up of the  humiliations and failures of days gone by!

Feel the love as we circle the wagons and start talking trash about the relatives who aren’t there and who are no longer with us!

Revel in watching the laziest white man (under 30 division) in North Georgia  sleep throughout the whole affair, only to awaken for the meal then go right back to sleep!

Experience the exhilaration as Sarcastro escapes to Atlanta to hang out for the day with Exador to talk about Aunt B’s tits for two minutes!

Thrill in the exploits as the Sarcastro clan goes golfing as a way to escape the tedium of sitting around the house staring at each other and worrying that Mom will actually ask us to do some chores!

Cry at the sheer genius of the people who invented the FM radio adapter for the iPod!

And finally, laugh with incredulity as Sarcastro tells his parents he has to get back early on Sunday "Because I got a lotta stuff to do."!

Here we go:

Thursday 0830:  Left Nashville.  Well, haven’t actually left as I’m typing on the computer.  But will leave by 0830.  Happy now? 

Thursday 1323 (local time) :  Arrived at family compound high atop Mount Sarcastro.  Saw five cops  and two red tail hawks on the way down.  Stopped in Dalton, GA for an ill-advised lunch.  Dalton is the perfect example of the collision between Redneck America and Central America.  Nothing but Rebel flags and Mexican restaurants as far as the eye can see.

Dad has announced that tomorrow we will all be going to Wal-Mart at 5am for Xmas shopping.  We are all to pick out our presents there, and if we don’t get up and go, we will get nothing.  This announcement was greeted with heckles, jeers and defiance.   Better luck next time, Dad.  Now let’s watch football.

 Thursday 1426:  Halftime of the Falcons/Lions game.  Mariah Carey is clearly lip-synching.  What point did NFL games become showcases for the talentless?  Put a marching band out there and be done with it.   My brother told a great story during the tedious game (17-0, at the half) about milking a dog who just had puppies, extracting (via syringe) the creamer from a single-serving non-dairy creamer package, and replacing it with the dog’s breast milk.  He then got the twelve year old son of the vet he works for to have a "creamer drinking contest" for a dollar.  The kid chugged the shot of dog milk, then refused to believe it was actually dog milk after the vet employees all fell down laughing.  Another story Mom tells is of how this little five year old kid whose parents work with my brother said "I know Stuart, he helps the puppies die." 

Back to the game. 

Thursday 1526:This is the most boring game ever.  Detroit couldn’t beat Vandy. Garcia threw an interception and didn’t have a reciever within ten yards of the ball.  Who was that to, Jeff?  The Falcons have them outclassed in every department.  As fans were streaming toward the exits at the end of the third quarter, even the announcers said "Well this is a great domed facility. "  Or something of that nature. 

I keep falling asleep on the sofa.  I’m going upstairs to nap as you can’t fall asleep in this house without someone pulling a prank.  The most common is the dangling of string or tissue lightly over the sleeping person’s nose area and watch them twitch and rub their nose in confusion. 

Thursday 1754:   Dad has already played the twitching nose gag on Stu.  Expect things to escalate by the end of the night. 

Stu and I are watching World Series of Poker.  We can’t stop laughing every time the announcers say, "Eric Canter has King-Jack off-suit. "  How exactly is the king jackoff suit different from the regular jackoff suit?

Grandma called to wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving.  We locked the door to the spare room until Mom got off the phone with her to avoid having to make small talk.   We’ve decided that Thanksgiving isn’t a "get everyone on the phone to talk about the weather" holiday, anymore.

Thursday 1914:   Well, we didn’t get away clean with talking to the Grandparents.  Mom came upstairs and said she thought Grandma’s feelings might have been hurt that we didn’t get on the phone.  She asked us to call her back.  We steadfastly refused.  Mom dialed the number, waited for it to ring then put the phone in my hand.  Stu and Dad both got on other extensions.  First, Grandma couldn’t figure out who it was.  I let it go on for probably too long, making small talk without identifying myself and listening to her pretend she knew who was on the phone.  When I said who it was, it was clear that she was relieved to find out who the mystery caller was.  We then proceeded to blame Mom for not letting any of us talk on the phone and say ‘hi’.  The conversation soon made a wrong turn into hurricane damage in Florida.  Big mistake.  At some point, Grandpa, who sounded like he had liquid courage working for him, told Grandma that her story about how much damage the neighbor’s screen door sustained wasn’t very interesting.  Then Grandma launched into her in-depth analysis of the Green Bay Packers, or I should say, Brett Favre and the Ten Negroes that are on his team.  Other than stats and scores from the paper, that constitutes the breadth of her knowledge pertaining to the subject.  We got off the phone as quick as decorum would permit, claiming that dinner was finally ready.  No sooner had I said it, that I realized it was also true.

Dinner started the way most family dinners start.  The blessing.   Mom kept playing the "You ARE the head of the household" card as a way to make Dad cough up a prayer.  What normally happens is Stu and I try to make each other laugh while the other two have their heads bowed.  This time I couldn’t stop laughing and neither could Stu.  So Dad’s prayer started "Heavenly Father….(snickering from the peanut gallery)…Thank you for not giving us sons…(outright bellows of laughter from the peanut gallery)…", then Mom chimed in to finish the prayer so we would stop laughing as they attempted to bless the meal.

The amount of insults were fairly limited.  After the prayer, anything else would have been anticlimactic.  Although there were plenty of asides at one another’s expense.  I mentioned that the Debra Lafave police report read like Penthouse Forum.  Stu asked for effect "What’s that?"  I replied "Remember that magazine in Dad’s underwear drawer?"  Dad piped in with "If there was one there you put it there."  And so on.  Then the guns turned on me for being fat. Then they turned on my brother for being gay, which he isn’t, but people make that mistake all the time.  Gay people actually HAVE sex.  Stu wisely turned that one back on Mom saying that if he was gay it was all her fault.  Which caused me to give him a high-five at the table.  All in all a fairly pleasant and subdued meal. 

 Ooooh! Time for pie!

Thursday 2200:  The pranks have started to escalate.  I prompted Stu to get some ground black pepper to put under Dad’s nose while sleeping.  The Rundown starring the Rock and Stifler was on for the umpteenth time.  About half way through, as always, Mom sounds off with "Oh, I’ve seen this!"  Getting back to the pranks, Stu combines the pepper with horseradish, places it on a spoon and sticks it under sleeping Dad’s nose.  We can’t stop laughing enough for Stu to hold his hand steady.  Dad takes a big whiff and wakes up wondering what the hell is going on.  Under direct examination, Stu rolls over on me as being the mastermind and coughs up the incriminating note in my handwriting as evidence of my complicity.  Now it is a three-way standoff.  Not one of us (except Mom is exempt) can safely sleep, now.  Trust no one.  This will only get uglier as the weekend progresses.  I must prepare for battle.  

Friday 0810:  In the middle of the morning coffee, newspaper and television ritual, Mom wondered out loud, "Why is it do you suppose that people think Stuart is gay?  It’s not like he acts feminine or anything."  Got a feeling that question may have been keeping her up all night.  For the record Stu, more than likely, isn’t gay.  Not that there is anything wrong with that.  I, for one, would have no problem with my brother playing for the other team.  It would open up opportunities for SO MANY jokes at his expense.  Mom thinks that would be out of bounds.  I think that if one truly loves and accepts a family member, that it shouldn’t make any difference, and be well within the bounds of fair play.  What would be wrong, is if he started getting a free pass or we tiptoes around the subject.  That ain’t who we are.

Friday 0904:  While waiting for breakfast, we have started a power struggle over what news network will be on.  Whenever Dad isn’t looking, I change it to MSNBC.  When I’m not looking he switches it back to FOX News.  This could concievably go on all day.  I will claim victory and withdraw from the field of battle.  Must leave for Atlanta, soon.  He is now watching Shop at Home channel.  Time to make my escape.

Friday 1015: Arrived at Casa de Exador.  Instantly turned around and went to the liquor store.  This may turn into an all day throw down.

Friday 1815:  Much drunkeness.  So far the Stewie Griffin Story and Mexican food has been involved.  The fish tacos at this place are excellent. 

Friday 2204:  After too much liquor, we have gone to the video store for Series 7: The Contenders and The Wicker Man.  There is still bourbon to be consumed.  And the parents of girls to call.   

 Friday 2328:  Booze is being consumed at a high rate.  Emails are being exchanged with curious women.  Parents of hapless and wayward girls are befuddled by overly charming rogues.

Saturday 0524: Ugh. My head hurts.  I remember this couch as being longer.  What happened to the guest bed?  I drank an entire fifth of Jack Daniels.  There’s a trick that hasn’t seen the light of day since college.  It is too early to head back to Mt. Sarcastro, but late enough that I’m not sure I can sleep anymoreDammit.  I have a noon tee time.  At least the only drunk driving was to the video store down the street and back.  I’m going to try to catch another two hours of sleep before I head back.

Saturday 0542:  Can’t get back to sleep.  No anesthesia.  Read about this little heartwarming tale, .  Why are we helping these people?  When they were starving they weren’t this mouthy.  This, in a nutshell, is why we need to quit fooling around in the Middle East.  Either we kill them all and be done with it, or withdraw completely and start minding our own business for a change.  This may be the hangover talking. 

I had a dream about GA Tech playing Vanderbilt in a bowl game, and me playing for Vandy as a punt returner. It may be hard to top.  Oh, I’ve had better dreams.  Most of them concerned girls I went to high school with or  Jessica Simpson.  However, this one seemed so REAL.  I must get more  sleep.

Saturday 0553:  Thinking about how the Clinton Presidential Library looks like a gigantic double-wide on blocks is consuming my thoughts.  Shit.  The sun is going to come up in less than an hour. 

Saturday 0748:  Leaving Casa de Exador.  Why didn’t I bring toothbrush? 

Saturday 0931:  Back on Sarcastro Mountain.  Nice long drive helped me to try to recall the evening’s festivities.  At some point I was drunk-typing.  Which, in hindsight, I should have left uncorrected as an example of how drinking affects motor skills.  We also drunk-dialed like teenage girls.  Unfortunately we didn’t call any teenage girls.  

Saturday 1650:  Back from golf.  What a gorgeous day.  Sunny with temps in the low sixties.  Perfect fall golf weather.  Unfortunately, I suck at golf and need to rethink my interest in the game. 

Typical exchange today:  "My ball is over by the ladies’ box.",  "You said ‘ladies box’."

Saturday 1732:  I have been goat-roped into making Thai food tonight.  We are all sick of Thanksgiving grub.  So tonight’s special is Shrimp Pineapple Curry with Jasmine Rice.  Enjoy your turkey sandwiches. 

I told Stu how Mom is obsessing over his sexual orientation.  We have to walk a thin line with this. We can’t have her TOO upset.  It’s all fun and games until Mom starts crying.  Plans are in the works to screw with her head about this one.  Some of it has already begun. During breakfast yesterday, a piece of onion from my omelet fell into my lap.  Without missing a beat, Mom reaches over and picks the onion off of my lap.  I put my fork on my plate and said, "That’s the kind of shit that turned Stu gay."  I thought she was going to choke.   Expect this theme to continue.  They are watching some decorating show on HGTV, that no one other than Mom wants to watch.  So on my way upstairs, I call down, "If you keep making Stu watch these programs, it’ll turn him gay."   Mom’s answer, "It will be over in five minutes."

Saturday 1912:  Overheard while fixing dinner.

Mom:  Are we going to eat at the table?

Dad: No, I thought we’d eat on the damn floor. 

Saturday 1922:  Aunt B wrote asking about Stu’s vocation.  He works at the local vet’s office.  We have been discussing the drugs that the vet uses to put animals down.  There are pharmaceutical reps that peddle all sorts of gimcracks that go along with these drugs.  Just like you see the pens, notepads, hats, coffee mugs for allergy meds and boner pills, they have them for the stuff you use to kill puppies.  The three brand names that Stu has mentioned to me are (I kid you not) Buthenasia, Succumb and Fatal Plus.  When he goes to the vet convention, in either January or February, he is going to load up on Fatal Plus tote bags, beer steins and golf balls.  I gots to get me some Fatal Plus gear.

Saturday 2158:  The Georgia/GA Tech game has got to be the most boring football game on today.  We watched some of the high school football playoffs that were televised today that were more exciting.   I turned it off at halftime in disgust.  Quoth Dad:  "It’s a shame they can’t both lose somehow."  Stu got nailed with the pepper in the nose while sleeping through this shitty game.

Sunday 1220:  Back home.  After an excellent breakfast, I headed back to Nashville and the folks headed to church.  Apparently they worship this Jewish fellow.  I didn’t catch the name.  Funny thing is that the Jewish fellow  is identified closely with the Italians.  Just like Meyer Lansky and Harvey Keitel.

Last night, Dad’s attempt at pranking Mom didn’t work out.  She was out bumming a smoke from my brother.  Dad tried to use my cell phone and call the house, then he would answer the phone, and tell Mom it was her friend who has been smoking for thirty years and now has lung cancer.   Hilarious, ain’t it?  Well the joke was on him as he couldn’t figure out how to work the phone and wound up calling Exador by mistake.  Of course, he proclaimed in his defense  "that’s a pretty shitty phone if you ask me."

All in all it was an excellent holiday weekend.  I got to spend time with my three favorite people in the world.  We cut up and each other down, but I never laugh as hard as when I am with them.  I would rather spend Thanksgiving with my family, than with the finest people on Earth. 


*By "live" , I mean Ashlee Simpson singing on SNL kind of live.


12 Responses to “Live Thanksgiving Blogging*”

  1. Exador Says:

    I read the Walmart ad and they have a laptop for $400. Pick one up for me, will ya?

  2. Exador Says:

    I was crying when I read the story about Gramma

  3. Sarcastro Says:

    As long as you were crying with laughter.

  4. Exador Says:

    This story explains so much about you…to others.I’ve MET Mumsy

  5. sgazzetti Says:

    I fall for that "non-dairy-creamer-chugging contest with dog’s breast milk" gag all the time. A classic.

  6. Katherine Coble Says:

    Friday 1643pmY’all drunk yet?

  7. Aunt B. Says:

    My mom giggled like a teenaged girl when she got off the phone with y’all, if that counts for anything.

  8. Exador Says:

    Pops was some sort of engineer type, wasn’t he? Well, that WAS before they had techy stuff like cellphones and transistors.

  9. john h Says:

    ‘thanks for not giving us sons’…that line alone is worth more than the price of admission. When they do the ‘Sarcastro: Early Years’ VH1 special..make sure this line gets included.Thanks for the primo entertainment.

  10. jag Says:

    Between the HP spoilers and now mention of Mariah Carey, I was beginning to wonder if I could visit this site without becoming physically ill.Luckily for me, after the aforementioned, um, mention of the lip syncing 10 lbs stuffed in a 1 lb sack devil spawn, the rest of the post was brilliant. Cheers!

  11. Aunt B. Says:

    I’m sorry. I just have to see that one more time.<i>I was beginning to wonder if I could visit this site without becoming physically ill.</i>Too funny.

  12. Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner « Watching The Defectives Says:

    […] Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner By Sarcastro It’s a great day in post-racial America. The usual eye-rollingly dull Thanksgiving at the in-laws in going to be a little more interesting this year. This may wind up as a superior Thanksgiving post than previous efforts. […]

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: