Stuff THIS!

Every year around Thanksgiving, bloggers around the world take time to write lameass posts listing all the shit they're thankful for. Some try to be profound; others try to be clever and witty. Well here's a news flash for you: NOBODY GIVES A FUCK. I don't think any of you turkey pluckers understand the true meaning of this holiday. Well lucky for you, Dyckerson is here. So sit back, grab your giblets, and prepare to be schooled.....


The first official Thanksgiving occurred in 1619 when a ship full of drunken homersexuals returning from a gay cruise crash landed somewhere upon the shores of Massachusetts. Just then, a group of Indian tech support guys drove by in a beat-up Plymouth Voyager and threw rocks at them. But the queers shielded themselves with their brightly colored turtleneck sweaters, causing the rocks to bounce back and hit the Indians, leaving red marks on their foreheads. Fortunately for the Indians, their telephone headsets prevented them from sustaining any major injuries. The fight was declared a draw, the buttonheads declared peace with the flamers, and the group decided to celebrate by gorging themselves with a shitload of grub.



They all agreed to meet at Mujibar Gupta's wigwam since he had a big screen TV. Everybody had to bring one covered dish. Sir Harry "Butterball" Cox cooked a turkey. Woody "Sweet Potato" Johnson baked a pie. Khadar Patel brought some disgusting curry dish that everybody hated. And Captain Richard Swanson brought some of his frozen TV dinners...but then they remembered the microwave oven hadn't been invented yet, so they ditched them at a homeless shelter.




Things got a little crazy during the feast. Harry dipped his "drumstick" in a vat of gravy and Woody licked it clean in front of everybody. The Indians just ignored it and continued to provide their callers with excellent customer service. But then Habib spilled cranberry sauce on one of Srujana's scripts, causing him to lose his place. Srujana then slammed down his phone and began pelting Habib with scalding hot biscuits, insulting his mother in a foreign language.

Following dinner, the macacas retired to the living room, smoked some tobacco, and watched a televised broadcast of men throwing large spherical objects at one another. Meanwhile, the homersexuals stayed in the kitchen and browsed at the sale ads in the newspaper.




The next morning, the whole gang played hooky from work and headed to the marketplace to take advantage of their doorbuster deals. Sadly, Butterball was trampled to death by a pack of crazed colonists desperate to purchase iPhonographs for their snotty little kids. After filling up the Plymouth with all sorts of cheap American crap, the swamis and the queers parted company and went their separate ways.




And so ends the story of the first Thanksgiving. Now pass the stuffing, dipshit.