Walter Miller's Home Page Speciel Feature

Thankgsiving Extra:

My Top Ten Worst Turkey Day Memmories

# 7

The Arguement is Moot

I never asked for mutch as a kid. Alls i ever wanted for Thanskgiving was to have the end slice of the cranberry suace--you know, where you can see molded into the slice the imprint of concentric circle marks, plus the numbers on the bottom of the tin can. Usualy i fight Granfather for it, but one year he surrendored it quite easily. I shoud of known somthing was wrong by this rare meek atitude on the part of the old bastord.

Granfather was silently lookin at me as i ate the slice, but it tasted pretty rancid. Since I was lookin right at the inprint of the expirration date I didnt give it much mind until Granfather started laughing in a muffled voice. Then he opened his disgousting mouth and stuck out his big leathory forked toungue, and sittin right on top of it, wiggling, was anothor slice of the gellatinous burgundy colored gel--it was IN HIS MOULTH.

I cryed out "Granfather! You spit this slice right in my dish?" and he said "NO BOY, I DONE DID THIS," and then he sudenly gulped, twitched a little, then pressed one finger to his left nostril while out of his right nostril came the othor slice, which neatly unfoldad itself as it fell toumbling thru the air from his horroble honker and landed with a splat in a perfect solid peice right on my dish. To this day, the argoument over the speciel end slice is moot because i will not ever go near Cranbery sauce agian.

# 6

The year DOOM came out.

I think it was 1993. Granfather was at our house in California. Do you know how some people never come to the table when the football game is on? Well the old bastord was acting this way while playing DOOM with my brother in the den with the sound voloume on very loud.

Some of the larger creatuores in the tougher DOOM levels splattor horibly when you kill them. There is this big monster thats the size of a dumptruck standing on end with a goat's head and he comes aftor you hourling green fireballs. There is a pink version of this monstor and a beige version. When you kill the pink one he groans like a cow, but when you kill the biege one he says somthing that sounds like: "Agua!"

Anyway Granfather comes to the table late. At that time he was dating this appallingly horendous woman who we knew then as "Medusa." (Not her real name). She says "Pass the water!" and allof a sudden Granfather started sayin: "AGUA! AGUA!" like the DOOM Monster. All i coud see was the dead splattored monster.

Suddenly everything at the table had a DOOM conection. He was throwing food around and making peurile ghastly noises. Even my brother told him to stop.

My stepmother said "Tipper Gore was right." I looked at Medusa to try to take my mind off of DOOM, but you know what? It just made things wurse.

At the part when Granfather said that the half-eaten turky looked like a "SQUARSHED ANACHROTRON" which is a giant electric spider with his brain showing I ran from the table an threw up. I like DOOM, but NOT during supper. Then i locked myself in the bathroom and creid and cried because our famly is so disfunctionol.

# 5

The Contest

No i am not talkin abbout the famous episode The Contest on Seinfeld --this is MORE disgousting. It is a shameful houmiliating ritual in my house that i never partook in but i only write abbout as a way of dealing with it. The contest takes place betwean 9 and 10pm Thanksgiving night and consists of who can make the biggest most horroble post dinner fart.

Granfather ovboiously always wins hands down, (or rather hands-to-the nose), so the real contest is for second place. Seccond place is considered the 'Big Prize' and the pot is usualy over $100. I was 6 years old and these were the carefree extravvagent 1980s, where money was no ojbect, so this year it was $182.

The Contest was always worse the years we celebraited the holiday in California because cousin Earl was there. He is sort of a marginal mentol case, and looks allot like the guy in Slingblade exept his hair is shorter if you can believe that. He is 10 years older than me, and always used to load up on gassy foods the whole morning of Thansksgiving in order to cheat.

That year Granffather was legally sepparated from my Grandnmother and started divorce proceedings but later they got back togethor. Anyway, he flew in from Texas with this awful fat mean girlfreind. We called her "Jobba the Hut", (me and my brothor had names for all of granfather's ugly bellywarmers), because she looked exactly like Jobba The Hutt in a bra. (Actualy, she looked exatcly like Jobba the Hut WITHUOT a bra)....Anyway:

The contest was so bad that year that the neighborrs called the cops. I was in bed sleeping but i coud hear and smell EVERYTHING. It was so bad that my hamsters died and also the little tires on my race car bed went flat, (and these were made of plywood). I ran into the kitchon on my way to the bathroom but made a wrong turn and barfed allover the refrigorator. Belive it or not i got in truoble for doing this. The contest, (like so many Thanksgiving contests in my dysfunctionol family) ended in a draw.

# 4

"God's stupidist barnyard creature" Part 1

We were one of those families that had to have the live turkey whenever posible. We were also the kind of family that was too dumb to efectively catch and kill what rural folk in Granfather's general part of the countrey call "God's stupidist barnyard creature". Howevor, after this particulor Thansgkiving, that title of superior stuppidity was universally taken away from Turkius Ammericanus and exclusivly bestowed on GRANFATHER.

I was 7, the year aftor The Contest, and we arrived in Texas a little late. Granfather had reconciled with his crule wife, so Jobba was gone, and Granny was back. It was hot that year and i was feeling pretty barfy from the car ride. We drove up to see Granfather running around the yard firing off the shotgun like crazy. Turkeys are suposedly so dumb that they will run arround with their mouths open in the rain and drown. Also, you can somtimes kill one of fright by hollering in his face or waving a flashlihgt at him. This is what you get when you crossbreed a poor bird to have meaty wings and breasts: His brain ends up the size of a raisin. Now please think of how dumb Grandfather is for not bein able to catch one.

Finaly the old cursing shooting bastord got the damn bird point blank. That night we had Turkey Tettrazini because there wasnt barely nothin left of the danm bird.

But how we got the meat from the yard inside--well that was the worst. Granny handed me and my brother plastic pails and rubbor gloves (and also fly swattors--YUCK), and forced us to pick up all the peices of the smithereened bird from over a quartor square mile area of prairie.

Then after washin off all the stringy giblety schreds, she dumped a jar of Miracle Whip and carrots on the meat and nuked it on Power Controle High for 10 minuts. She called it 'Tetrazini' but it was NOT--everyone agread it looked like the stuff i barfed up the year prior. No one ate it and we had supper in Hunan Wok instead which isnt even there aneymore.

"God's stuppidist barn yard creature" PART TWO