So, Thanksgiving sucked. My asshole drunk uncle Danny got all huffy because my mom didn't vote for Tex, and my mom's friend Donna tried to hug my brothers and me. The highlight was the best game of football ever played between my brothers Jordan, Zach, my cousin Josh, and myself. It was great. Trick plays, after dark miracle touchdown passes, interceptions, game saving tackles. Zach and I prevailed 13-11. The food was pretty good, except for this stuff my grandma Marge makes called Tomato "Speck". It is a Jell-O mold full of lemon Jell-O and tomato soup concentrate. Then they put green olives in and top it with Miracle Whip. I'm not sure anyone actually eats it, but I once took a bite and threw up in my mouth. It is the foodstuff incarnate of what hell would taste like. At one point the political discussion between my uncle (who kisses up to my grandpa by litterally saying, "Dad, dad guess who your daughter voted for? knowing my mom voted Dem in a Conservative family) and my grandpa grew so heated that I turned to my aunt Sandy and said, "I don't discuss politics with these fuckers. They don't listen." And she agreed. Zach also threatened to break out his "Clinton '92" button and wear it (yes, we have one). It was one hell of a weird Thanksgiving. At least it wasn't two years ago, where my uncle Joe beat up my aunt Jenny (his sister) between dinner and the pie. That was a fucked up ordeal.
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