This is going to become the new Malkin/cheerleader video, isn’t it?

Yes. Yes it is.

Shouldn’t that be Charlie Brown’s Thanksgiving?

Dude, your sense of humor is pure gold, tks

What the fuck is that guy in the background doing with that turkey? Is that a turkey chipper? Quit looking at the camera you dumbass you’re distacting us from Sarah’s moment.

Oops that guy just grabbed Trigg in his Thanksgiving turkey costume.

and will always be the funniest Thanksgiving video.

thanks for the laughs.

Dint she do a halibut this year?

Ah, precious holiday memories. (brushes away a tear) Maybe they can run this every year right after the Macy’s Parade and just before “Miracle on 34th Street.”

I am hoping someone can auto-tune this wonderful holiday memory. Think of The Children.

Choking the Turkey, an Alaskan tradition.

AYUP

Great comment by Johne on that vid:

It’s so fun when a mom and her daughter can go out clubbin’.

With the price of oil dropping to Merely Insane, you have to be fiscally responsible. Put off buying new clothes until the GOP hands you a credit card, that kind a thing.

Are any programs on the chopping block? Ha ha, no, that’s old fashioned. Nowadays, we shove the programs headfirst into a kind of funnel and choke the life out of them that way.

There is an entire DUMB LADY book in bookstores now and we still haven’t seen a review from TBogg.

When his eyes had got used to the deep-sea light he discerned a Negro the size of Carnera, naked to the waist and shining with iron-colored sweat, decapitating snapping turtles with silvered precision.

Now the trouble with turtles is that they believe all things come to him who will but struggle. There’s always room at the top for one more, they think. And in this strange faith the snapping kind is of all the most devout. For it’s precisely that that makes them the snapping kind. Though the way be steep and bloody, that doesn’t matter so long as you reach the top of the bleeding heap.

The dark butcher looked to Dove like Doctor Death in person.

Doctor Death whose patients come one by one along an ever-narrowing plank, each confident of ultimate mercy: a last-minute repreive, with full civilian rights restored — the knife would snap in mid-air, a modern miracle. Death was all right for certain classes, sand turtles and such, but didn’t suit noble old sea-going families of true terrapin lineage.

Losing his head didn’t lose one his footing. His legs kept seeking yet bloodier heights. Say Not The Struggle Naught Availeth, Onward and Upward was the cry.

Indeed, once the knife had done him in, to raise oneself in the world became more urgent than ever. Sensing that time was against him, he worked all the harder to succeed. Till the floor about the pyramid streamed black with blood, with some on their backs and some on their bellies.

Dove felt another’s eyes watching the growing pile: down on the floor beside him a severed terrapin’s head, big as his own hand, stared cataleptically at its own body slipping and flipping up the distant heap. It could be no other’s body, for it alone matched the king-sized head that stared with faith unshakable.

Stepping on the stumps of a hundred bleeding necks, hauling itself over other backs, giving one a kick there and one a shove there, the body sent a dozen rival climbers sprawling over the cliff to failure. Dove and the Head watched together to see if the Body would make it.

Driven by some strength greater than that of others, wading contentedly over mothers and orphans, it got its blind flippers at last onto the tail of a red snapper, hauled itself onto the snapper’s back, pushed Red out from under and landed smack in the middle of the heap.

He was the King of the Turtles.

The king waved his arrogant flippers triumphantly — “Always room for one more at the top” — just as something bumped him hard from behind and his short day was done. Sliding, sprawling, skidding, he slipped off the heap in a bloody skein and landed flat on his back below the table wigwagging frantically.

“Dear friends and gentle hearts,” he wigwagged, feeling the final cold creep up — “Will you stand by to leave your old friend die? I wanted nothing for myself — money, comfort, power, security — I worked for these only because those dear to me wanted them. (Of course, as long as they were handy I shared them from time to time.) Would you really leave me here to die?

“True, I ate well. But that was only to keep up my strength for the sacrificial ordeal of my days. For I never knowingly harmed a fellow creature unless he got in my way. I never took unfair advantage unless it profited me. Can you really leave so lovely a turtle to die?

“A devoted father, a loyal citizen, a faithful employee, a kind employer, a considerate neighbor, a regular church-goer. Out of purity of heart I respected the laws of God and man. Purity, and fear of jail. Could you really stand by and watch so saintly a turtle die?

“I seemed a bit intent a moment ago, you say, on grinding my brothers’ necks to gristle? I confess — but that was a moment ago, and now I’ve changed my ways. Could you bear to see such an open-minded turtle die?

“Lift me up, lift me up, gentle hearts — lift me up to let me look one last time at the top of the heap where once I ruled so.”
And with that most slowly drew in his dark tail. His flippers grew rigid. His struggles forever ceased.

The wisest of turtles was dead.

Just as Bing Crosby came onto the juke singing I Aint Got Nobody.

“What’ll it be, boy?” the waiter asked.

Dove didn’t hesitate. “I’ll take the tarpon soup.”

He didn’t yet know that there was also room for one more at the bottom.

[Nelson Algren, A Walk on the Wild Side, pp 111-4

Sarah originally planned to stand in front of a flock of sheep getting fleeced but realized that might be a bit too obvious, even for her “constituency”.

This never gets old. SCTV meets Fargo. Well posted, sir.

Happy Thanksgiving to you, Mrs. TBogg, the L&T Casey, and the Dawgz … and extra thanks for the instant classic perennial holiday video!