Celebrate good times, come on!

My name is Norman and I paint lies

Today, in celebration of the fact that the indigenous people of this land failed to comprehend our ancestors' true intention and foolishly kept them alive through the first few winters of the colonization, we will stuff ourselves with the fruits of their mistake. We will gorge ourselves on the genetic abomination that is the modern turkey; the product of a most unnatural selection so horrible as to have almost no precedent save that of the comparison between the proportions of a Barbie® doll and that of an actual woman. Mankind's obsession with outsized breasts seems boundless.

That said, after spending the afternoon stuffing my gullet with truly obscene quantities of food and alcohol, I anticipate falling into my usual post holiday state of bloated self loathing. And like the good descendant of Puritans I am, I anticipate awakening bright and early Friday morning filled with the desire to punish myself for having indulged my wanton animal desires, my gluttonous impulse to pleasure, my decadent hedonism, my godless debauchery. And I plan to symbolically flagellate my body on the saddle of a bicycle; to purify my soul with Cliff's Bars and sports drinks. So I will climb the hill to Forest Glen, then turn around and amble out past Olney and back. Then it'll be time to stuff myself with leftovers and do it all again on Sunday!

I hope your suffering is as exquisite. Happy Thanksgiving.