I passed out everywhere. I passed out in the arm chair, sitting straight up. I passed out in the arm chair with my legs tucked around me. I passed out on the couch. I passed out on the floor, with my arms shoved straight under me. That's the position for nappin'. I passed out at the beginning, middle, and end of a game of Life. I passed out during a commercial break. I passed out in a quiet house.
In short, and again: I passed out everywhere. I ate a ton of food, thought about calling my parents, and fell asleep. I rode the food train to crazy dream town. And it was good.
A good post-turkey nap is essential to Thanksgiving. I didn't have to think about how far away I was from home. I didn't have to think about the ethics of the holiday. I didn't have to think about how the turkey got to the table, or about how bad turkeys are for mass confinement. A turkey is a very bad bird to factory farm. They are large, proud, and have very fragile immune systems. Aside from pigs, they are the worst animal to factory farm because they do not conform well to the system of crippling, force-feeding, and denaturalization. Every year, turkeys are held hostage in internment camps to be slaughtered and placed on our tables to be consumed, greedily and happily. Sometimes chickens and ducks are put in the stomachs of turkeys. It's sort of funny, like the turkey ate the chickens and ducks before it was killed, and you just cooked it and surprise! Poultricide! Poultranibal! Gobble!
When you pass out after a good, humongous, filling meal, you don't have to answer questions, you don't have to ask questions, you don't have to yell at the television, "Why are you on? You cannot be on! I cannot have you running your mouth all day, every day, for hours at a time! You are the reason Black Market Friday happens! You are the reason my head aches in the middle of the night!" You don't have to do anything but feel warm and sleepy and content.
A good post-giving nap is crucial to understanding the holiday. It's what makes you thankful. It's cathartic. Some people say sleep is akin to death. When you eat a turkey, pass out with flesh grease still shining on your lips, and wake up, you're reborn. You can preen your feathers the whole drive home. You're new. You're beautiful.
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In short, and again: I passed out everywhere. I ate a ton of food, thought about calling my parents, and fell asleep. I rode the food train to crazy dream town. And it was good.
A good post-turkey nap is essential to Thanksgiving. I didn't have to think about how far away I was from home. I didn't have to think about the ethics of the holiday. I didn't have to think about how the turkey got to the table, or about how bad turkeys are for mass confinement. A turkey is a very bad bird to factory farm. They are large, proud, and have very fragile immune systems. Aside from pigs, they are the worst animal to factory farm because they do not conform well to the system of crippling, force-feeding, and denaturalization. Every year, turkeys are held hostage in internment camps to be slaughtered and placed on our tables to be consumed, greedily and happily. Sometimes chickens and ducks are put in the stomachs of turkeys. It's sort of funny, like the turkey ate the chickens and ducks before it was killed, and you just cooked it and surprise! Poultricide! Poultranibal! Gobble!
When you pass out after a good, humongous, filling meal, you don't have to answer questions, you don't have to ask questions, you don't have to yell at the television, "Why are you on? You cannot be on! I cannot have you running your mouth all day, every day, for hours at a time! You are the reason Black Market Friday happens! You are the reason my head aches in the middle of the night!" You don't have to do anything but feel warm and sleepy and content.
A good post-giving nap is crucial to understanding the holiday. It's what makes you thankful. It's cathartic. Some people say sleep is akin to death. When you eat a turkey, pass out with flesh grease still shining on your lips, and wake up, you're reborn. You can preen your feathers the whole drive home. You're new. You're beautiful.