Subversive pinko turkeys
My loyal readers, or reader, may remember my column from a year ago concerning the holiday of pre-Thanksgiving. In that column, I reflected on the wholesome and American origins of the holiday. For instance, pre-Thanksgiving begins five days before Thanksgiving to commemorate the deportation and marginalization of the Five Civilized Tribes from the South to Oklahoma. We eat a bird called “turkey” because Christopher Columbus insisted that the colorfully-plumed animals were, in reality, Asiatic sultans to the west of India. We eat corn because it is the only food to survive the trial by ordeal of boiling.
All of this has passed into historical fact thanks to my efforts. Indeed, the tradition continues in my apartment, and we are on day two of pre-Thanksgiving as of this writing. We bought a 25-pound turkey that will last us well into this week. Corn, mashed potatoes, squash and all the staples revitalized with space-age, microwave-oven technology quite unlike anything used to cook turkey or witches.
But something was wrong during that first feast. The feeling first occurred to me as I cut the deliciously seasoned turkey breast, with seasoning both above and under the skin, and doled it out to my apartment-mates and guests. My eyes twitched when someone asked me to pass the cranberry sauce. And as I was served pumpkin pie, bile rose in my throat. At first, I ascribed these feelings to overindulging in apple cider and not liking pumpkin pie.
As I lay in bed, thinking about Pilgrims, freedom and fusillades blasting the Wampanoag to bits, it struck me. Every guest got an equal share of food regardless of how much work he put into the meal. One of my roommates didn’t help at all because he was at a sports tournament. At the table, I could ask for more food and someone would provide it to me for free. If the food was not in reach, someone would pass it to me without a thought. The communal nature of it all where property was given freely and generously, not sold.
A specter is haunting Thanksgiving – the specter of communism. All the powers of America’s conservatives should enter into a holy alliance to exercise this specter: Palin and Beck, Boehner and McConnell, House Republicans and Senate Republicans.
This entirely original realization shook the stupefied drool from my chin. To think that the most important founders of America – pale-skinned English fundamentalists who arrived late – could have planted the seeds of socialist tyranny. Seeds, having Biden their time for centuries, bear the fruits of Obamanation in this 21st century.
The idea that America was founded on the basis of cooperation and sharing makes me sick. Upon further reflection, I should expect no better from English settlers by way of the Netherlands. It would take coddling by a National Health Service and then a thorough inculcation in pot subculture for anyone to set sail for Virginia and end up so deep in the blue states that one could marry homosexually and share an insurance policy.
Did you know that Thanksgiving is a federal holiday? I may want law regulating people in the privacy of their bedrooms. I may want Moses’ law enshrined on the lawn of every courthouse. But I certainly don’t want the government telling me when I can and cannot go to work. Forced vacations and government-mandated feasting? Sounds like some bizarro world Soviet collective farm in reverse. No thank you, comrade! I think vacations should be left entirely to the demands of the free market and not ruled and regulated by bureaucrats.
Consider the crowning event of every Thanksgiving Day: The triumphal Stalin-esque parade put on by Macy’s department store in Manhattan. Macy’s, whose logo prominently features a red star and whose business model attempts to socialize various types of stores into subordinate departments. Traditionally, the final float in Macy’s parade is a giant Santa Claus. Santa, a man dressed in red who dispenses toys to every child regardless of wealth. Santa, the harbinger of the next insidious holiday based on selfless giving. As Glenn Beck would astutely note, if you rearrange the letters in “Santa” you can spell the word “Satan.” But that is a topic for a future defense of our great land.
Chris Amorosi is a Collegian columnist. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.