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22 December 2023
Gather around, little Squantos. I got me a story to tell you. Ready? Okay, good.
Our story begins a long time ago, in jolly old England-- where White People were invented. I think it was the 1960s or something. Maybe the ‘65s. A group of brave Christian soldiers named Pilgrims were growing tired of the Church of England. I’m not real sure what the big problem was, but, in the long run, we know that the Pilgrims were right. And England hated God. So, the Pilgrims built a boat, named it “The Good WorShip Lollipop”, and sailed west for Hollywood with two of each animal onboard.
This was, like, July, maybe. So, around September, The Good WorShip Lollipop rolls into the Eastern Seaboard. They were greeted at the shore by a group of naked bird people called Indians. The Indians were simple peoples who believed in gods that weren’t real, and were possibly harboring weapons of mass destruction. But the Pilgrims couldn’t be sure, so they made friends with the Indians in order to learn all their deep, dark secrets, donating money to their training camps, buying their dreamcatchers at art festivals, and doubling down on eleven at their modest hotel casinos and resorts.
A few months passed. The Pilgrims were frustrated. Sure, this new land offered them all the religious freedom they ever wanted. I mean, that’s originally what they came here for. But that wasn’t enough! Manifest Destiny was the way of the European man! It was in his blood. The only thing standing in their way was all these damn bird people and their possible weapons of mass destruction. So the Pilgrims decided to throw a big dinner, acting as if nothing was wrong, and everyone was friends, secretly ready to slaughter them Injuns like Lord Vader slaughtered Alderaan. (All hail Lord Vader!)
The Indians were stoked. I mean, they’d been eating nothing but dingleberries and raw buffalo meat for 300 years. Finally, Christian God was going to answer their ignorant prayers, and give them the gift of such wonderful American dishes as potatoes, salad, and cranberry sauce. So they sat, and they prayed, and they ate.
THEN THE PILGRIMS SET THE FUCKING BIRD PEOPLE ON FIRE, COMING OUT OF NOWHERE, DROPPING CANNONBALLS AND BUCKSHOT ON THEIR HEADS AND SHOOTING THEM LIKE CHUCK HESTON AT A MULATTO CONVENTION!!! YOU BIRD PEOPLE CAN WALK AROUND NAKED AND WATUSI AROUND CAMPFIRES AND EVEN WORSHIP YOUR FAKE GOD, BUT I'LL BE DAMNED IF I’M GOING TO LET YOU THREATEN MY AMERICA WITH YOUR AS-YET-UNSEEN WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION! YOU WILL NOT HOLD OUR PEACE AND FREEDOM AND OIL HOSTAGE, COMANCHE!!! WE MUST ATTACK TERROR BEFORE IT ATTACKS US!
I mean, the Pilgrims had to do all that.
And every November you celebrate that because you love America. You love freedom. And it is your way of saying, “Thank you, religious dissidents, for slaughtering those nasty bird people before they killed off all of my ancestors.” That’s why you eat turkey (a bird). And that’s why, come November 2004, you’ll vote for me to be your president once again. Because I won’t let the bird people take over!
And that’s the story of the first Thanksgiving.
Love,
- Dubya
dubya@tlchicken.com
Our story begins a long time ago, in jolly old England-- where White People were invented. I think it was the 1960s or something. Maybe the ‘65s. A group of brave Christian soldiers named Pilgrims were growing tired of the Church of England. I’m not real sure what the big problem was, but, in the long run, we know that the Pilgrims were right. And England hated God. So, the Pilgrims built a boat, named it “The Good WorShip Lollipop”, and sailed west for Hollywood with two of each animal onboard.
This was, like, July, maybe. So, around September, The Good WorShip Lollipop rolls into the Eastern Seaboard. They were greeted at the shore by a group of naked bird people called Indians. The Indians were simple peoples who believed in gods that weren’t real, and were possibly harboring weapons of mass destruction. But the Pilgrims couldn’t be sure, so they made friends with the Indians in order to learn all their deep, dark secrets, donating money to their training camps, buying their dreamcatchers at art festivals, and doubling down on eleven at their modest hotel casinos and resorts.
A few months passed. The Pilgrims were frustrated. Sure, this new land offered them all the religious freedom they ever wanted. I mean, that’s originally what they came here for. But that wasn’t enough! Manifest Destiny was the way of the European man! It was in his blood. The only thing standing in their way was all these damn bird people and their possible weapons of mass destruction. So the Pilgrims decided to throw a big dinner, acting as if nothing was wrong, and everyone was friends, secretly ready to slaughter them Injuns like Lord Vader slaughtered Alderaan. (All hail Lord Vader!)
The Indians were stoked. I mean, they’d been eating nothing but dingleberries and raw buffalo meat for 300 years. Finally, Christian God was going to answer their ignorant prayers, and give them the gift of such wonderful American dishes as potatoes, salad, and cranberry sauce. So they sat, and they prayed, and they ate.
THEN THE PILGRIMS SET THE FUCKING BIRD PEOPLE ON FIRE, COMING OUT OF NOWHERE, DROPPING CANNONBALLS AND BUCKSHOT ON THEIR HEADS AND SHOOTING THEM LIKE CHUCK HESTON AT A MULATTO CONVENTION!!! YOU BIRD PEOPLE CAN WALK AROUND NAKED AND WATUSI AROUND CAMPFIRES AND EVEN WORSHIP YOUR FAKE GOD, BUT I'LL BE DAMNED IF I’M GOING TO LET YOU THREATEN MY AMERICA WITH YOUR AS-YET-UNSEEN WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION! YOU WILL NOT HOLD OUR PEACE AND FREEDOM AND OIL HOSTAGE, COMANCHE!!! WE MUST ATTACK TERROR BEFORE IT ATTACKS US!
I mean, the Pilgrims had to do all that.
And every November you celebrate that because you love America. You love freedom. And it is your way of saying, “Thank you, religious dissidents, for slaughtering those nasty bird people before they killed off all of my ancestors.” That’s why you eat turkey (a bird). And that’s why, come November 2004, you’ll vote for me to be your president once again. Because I won’t let the bird people take over!
And that’s the story of the first Thanksgiving.
Love,
- Dubya
dubya@tlchicken.com
artid
1768
Old Image
6_3_dubya.jpg
issue
vol 6 - issue 03 (nov 2003)
section
stories