A story overheard at the Alley Cat
I love Thanksgiving; it's by far my favorite holiday. I have so many wonderful memories of Turkey Days spent with my family, laughing, playing cards, having a great time.
I love it so much that I forget sometimes that other people don't like it. I overheard a Thanksgiving story in a bar the other day and it was so raw I had to write it down.
The guy telling the story was a few years younger than me but a much heavier drinker, so who knows what percentage of the story is true. But it sure did entertain the people at my neighborhood bar. I'll try and tell it the way he did.
Someone brought up the topic of Thanksgiving.
"Speaking of Thanksgiving," he said, "how'd you like to wake up at 2 p.m. with a hangover to find your girlfriend gone and a phone call from a pissed-off sibling wondering WTF you are."
"I just woke up," he tells her.
"You'd better be there between noon and 1," she says.
"Hell, no," he says. "There's not enough time between now and then to get wasted."
"You'll have to get wasted over here then."
"Yeah," he says, "but cousin XXXXX will be there. He'll Artest me if I'm wasted. Besides, all you have over there is hillbilly beer. I want some Hennessy or Crown if I have to face you all."
"Just get your fat ass over here by 1 and don't bring your whore with you," she says.
"She knows better than go to the Southside," he says. "The cops down there would shoot us on sight. But now that you said that, I'm gonna find a crack whore on my way to the Southside, there's plenty over by where you live. Then I'm gonna bring her to dinner. I'm gonna introduce her to our redneck family as my fiancee while she walks off with all your damn Hallmark figurines and gold necklaces, bitch."
"Just don't cause a scene like you did three years ago," she says.
"Every second you talk increases the chances that I'm bringing the entire homeless shelter plus the Wishard psycho ward with me for dinner. You'll see me when you see me. I want a damned morphine drip ready for me when I get there."
So he gets there and his sister says, "Where's your whore?"
"Hmm," he says, "where's the damn booze? Has your husband drained the whole fifth yet or just three-fourths of it?"
"Screw you," she says. "You better behave."
He gets right up in her face. "Listen, you cow, I don't know why I'm even gracing you with my presence today. If I want to see uneducated redneck hillbillies, I'll watch Jerry Springer. I don't need you for that."
"Well, if Mom or Dad were here, they'd feel the same way I do," she says.
"LISTEN UP," he says, "if they were here they'd be loading a .22 and killing themselves for creating hellspawn trash like you. Did you bring some damn booze or what? I'm not going to listen to your bullshit sober."
"Get your floozy to get you booze," she says. "I'm gonna make sure they cut you out of the will," she says.
"You dumb redneck, THERE IS NO WILL, THERE IS NO MONEY," he says. "You and your goddamn brats drained it dry long ago. The will says you get to burn in hell forever for being a racist bitch. That's what it says. I wrote it."
Then another relative comes in the room. They eat. The guy breaks out his sister's vent windows on both sides and keys her car before he leaves.
Later, she calls him and says, "I know what you did. I'm calling the Sheriff's Department on you."
"Yeah right," he says. "Nobody with THREE WARRANTS out on them is calling the cops for shit. Put the crack pipe down and go turn some tricks to pay for that shitty meal you cooked."
"You're not welcome at our house ever again," she says.
"Praise Jesus," he says. "That genie was right. No. 1 wish came true today."
"Just don't call me when you need anything," she says.
"I don't need hillbillies or an STD, why would I even go near your trailer trash home," he says. "Maybe if I needed some hubcaps or something I'd rummage through your lawn. Maybe I could catch West Nile virus from the mosquitoes living in those old tires."
"STFU," she says.
"Do you like apples? Here's an apple pie for you. When the baby is born, I suddenly have no more relatives. Poof. All gone. You'll never see that fuckin' baby except on a Gerber jar."
"Yeah right," she says.
"You are cut off from here on," he says. "Don't ever contact me again unless it's your husband telling me about your funeral plans. And then I only plan on going so I can literally piss on your grave."
The dude lit another cigarette, finished his drink and left. I hope he has a happier Thanksgiving this year, just as I wish every reader a happy few days off.