You would have to be mad to have any sort of real rant against Thansgiving. Who could argue with a holdiay whose sole purpose is food? No one, absoulutely no one. (Maybe a vegetarian.)
I, however, have a distinct dislike of most holidays. I would never actually want to do away with them, a chance to skip school is all too inviting, but almost everyone gets some distinct notion that holidays should be fun, a better day than the rest of the year. That's why I don't like them. It's like your birthday, you think it should be great, but, alas, it's not. Things go wrong, just like normal, but it seems like they shouldn't. It should be a happy, special day.
This particular holiday has the added appeal that it's probably the only commercially advertised holiday that applies to every race and religion in all of America. That's keen, and makes it one of my favorite holidays by default (that and stuffing. Mmmmm, stuffing....)
Of course, the happiness won't stop there. My mom is in the kitchen right now, stressing, swearing and listening to NPR, and I, her loyal daughter, have been drafted to help her. Why, then, am I writing this? Because it needs to be said, my friend, it needs to be said.
It all seemed innocent enough. I had a choice between the dishes and chopping onions in our spiffy onion chopper, and, intelligent old me chose to chop the onions. This started my disgust. Why is it that the American people are abusive? We make ourselves cry, have to tear our own eyelids open to see the knife, and all for what, flavoring? It's sick, it's twisted, and it's self mutilation. But does the horror of the eyes stop there? No! Of course not! You have to move onto the garlic, and, if you don't wash your hand right after, they will make your eyes sting. ABUSE!!! The lone bird calls. Am I the only one you sees this terror? (I would also like to add that while I am writing this, my eyes are stinging wildly in a crying like formation, EVEN THOUGH I finished with the onions over a half and hour ago.)
Does it stop there? No, of course not. The turkey. It's pale and vaney and has a thermometer inside. Why? Can you not let the bird lie in peace? The thermometer isn't even the worst part, though. Did you know that they tie up the poor beast's legs with plastic? Why? So it won't run away? I tried to cut poor little Harry out of the plastic's grasp, but it was woven inside of him! Imagine taking all that time to weave a dead bird's legs together!
On top of my confusion and saddness for Harry, mom moved me from looking at the bird (somewhat violently, I might add, for my own "benefit") to mashing the cranberries. THANKSGIVING TEACHES VIOLENCE! Harry's dead, the cranberries started to bleed, and THEN, after all that, even the celery could not seek peace and was stained with the poor cranberries blood. Sick, sick and twisted.
While yes, Thanksgiving is a holiday which unites the American people (except for the very poor), it's vicious. Just as I was typing that sentence, there was a horrible crackling coming from the kitchen. Hansel and Gretel comes out in full force. I like this holiday, I can't deny that, but the process that leads up to it will leave me scarred. Poor, poor Harry. Killed, stuck with thermometers, tied together, cooked, rubbed with garlic, and then, as if that wasn't enough, stabbed with forks and crowded with other materials on his withering insides. (Mmmmmm, stuffing...)
*Disclaimer: I'm not even going to mention the fact that is a holiday that celebrates the taking, stealing and murdering of Indians (also known as Native Americas) and their land. Hate to be trivial, but they were here first.*