THANKSGIVING: Doomsday for Turkeys on Farms and Families in Midtown.


Happy Thanksgiving. An american holiday built upon slaughter and backstabbing. 

I could care less about the pilgrims and indians. 
I could live without the cranberry sauce and stuffing  (from what i hear, the caned and boxed type is some of the bast anyways)
All I’ve ever cared about is 
  • how to perfectly peal a potato in the least amount of shavings possible 
  • and waking up at some god awful time to hear the chaos of Macy’s thanksgiving day parade in the background as i nod in and out of sleep under the covers. 

Unfortunately: I will be navigating my way through the mess of children, tourism, and massive balloons in order to get out of the city at 8am this year.
Fortunately: I will also be able to spend 4 hours on a bus, without having to speak. I don’t remember that last time I was able to do that. 
Thanks to not giving, I suppose. 

I will be departing from my small dysfunctional European family in order to make it to a larger dysfunctional European family, before dinner.
I’ve downloaded three Louis C.K. podcasts, photos to shop, and all of my Wire albums, for the bus ride.



The best part of Thanksgiving: a background story.
The history and The disaster 

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