Wednesday, November 24, 2004

No Turkey for Bob

I am reading a British horror anthology, while clad only in my tighty whities, when the phone rings. It was my land line, which means it could only be a couple different people--my mother or Issy, both of whom I don't particularly like. However, I have a thing about ringing phones; I have to fucking answer them. The following is a transcript of that phone call and the subsequent conversations that occurred thereafter.

Cranberry hits the fan

Ring, Ring, Ring

Bob: Hello

Mom: You can have a piece of the pumpkin pie that is on the counter. Thanksgiving is off. Go to Frisch's with that bastard father of yours. She begins to sob and quietly lament her life. (Actually, she isn't being terribly quiet and I overhear mom state how miserable meeting my dad and having children made her.)

Bob: What happened?

Mom: I threw the newspaper at the mother fucker and he yelled at me. Can you believe him? He gets mad because I tossed the paper at his head and told him to shut the fuck up, the nerve of that man.

Bob: Yea...ummmm...yea...Dad was being totally unreasonable. I hate when he is like that--as if he deserves a modicum of courtesy and respect. So, can we still have Thanksgiving?

Mom: No, I will never cook for that mother fucker again. That old cocksucker can die.

Bob: Yea, we should lynch him, but that has nothing to do with cooking Thanksgiving dinner for me.

Mom: Go to Frisch's.

Bob: I am not going to eat Thanksgiving dinner at some restaurant.

Mom: You could stand to miss a meal or hundred. Thanksgiving is off. Click

Bob: No Thanksgiving for Bob.

Let the Gluttony Commence

Ten Minutes Later

Ring, Ring, Ring

Bob: Hello

Mom: I am going to cook, but don't expect us to eat together. I will give you a plate to take home with you.

Bob: Can I get several plates?

Mom: You are such a fat ass. Will you stay away if I give you leftover food for later?

Bob: Leftover? I was planning on eating it all at once. It will be an orgy of turkey and stuffing, resulting in an explosion of cranberry.

Mom: You will be dead in ten years. Pick up your food tomorrow at noon and don't come back. I can't stand any of you.

Bob: Works for me.

Next Time on Jerry Springer: Dead Relatives and Why Bob Killed Them

Five hours later

Ring, Ring, Ring

Bob: Hello

Dad: Your worthless cousin was in an accident. He was hit by a car. He will probably die. Your mother probably won't be back tonight. The little bastard was probably high and drunk like your aunt. (My mother's sister) Her family is pathetic.

Bob: Yea, that is really sad. What about Thanksgiving dinner?

Dad: I guess it is off.

Bob: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! He better die, or at the very least, be paralyzed for life.

Dad: We can only hope.

Go to hell