Who Wants Gravy With Their Glock?

Here in Western Pennsylvania, the “Holiday Celebration Turns Tragic” headlines are practically a foregone, given our dimwit propensity to show off our firearms at the dinner table.

Usually, it’s the brand-new or just-reblued “unloaded” hand howitzer with a stray round in the chamber that brings the happy blather to a halt. However, in the process of Googling the local news, I found a poster at DU who’s assembled a compendium of Thanksgiving shooting stories from around the nation—and, so far, “rage-driven” is beating “accidental” by about 5-0.

Holidays bring out the sharp edges in every group. But are we angrier as a nation this Thanksgiving? Have any of you ‘Roasters observed a spike in psychotic breaks around the mulled wine or down at the local Retail Death Star?

Field reports are welcome. I’m not sure there’s a reliable statistical model for distinguishing routine breakdowns and domestic conflicts from the ratcheting poom-poom-poom of Right-Left/Patriots-vs.-Marxists blood-oaths on the Internet jungle drums, but I’m keen to assemble the data.

Meanwhile—be safe. Be polite. Remember to compliment the chef. Don’t try to cut into the line for the Zhu Zhu Hamsters. And never trust the idiot who tells you it’s OK to look down the barrel because he took the clip out. 

Posted by StrangeAppar8us on 11/27/09 at 12:36 PM • Permalink

Categories: BoozeNews

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We had a Thanksgiving Eve domestic violence incident on our block. It was the same couple who beat the shit out of each other and engage in drunken shouting matches year ‘round though, so I don’t think it counts a holiday rage incident. No firearms were involved, thankfully. They occasional lob empty Smirnoff bottles at one another, but that’s the extent of it.

Lots of knives at our house, but no guns. The only heat I got was from hot flashes and I just opened a window to cool things off. My sons might have staged an uprising when I told them they had to wash the dishes, but I threatened to take away the desserts and that calmed them right down.

Betty, I failed to mention unemployment, repossession, eviction and credit interest gouging as potential stressors—which are all more likely to result in a a crackup right now than Birther Madness or Rage against the Public Option.

In my head, I’m starting to hear that sick metallic groaning sound a submarine hull makes right before the rivets start to pop, and I just know that holidays + no money + Marxist in the White House is a ticket for the Crazy Train to Murdertown.

There’s no way to tease the anger-threads apart, or determine which cables are most likely to snap. But I’m expecting a very ugly month ahead, and I only hope I’m wrong.

Rivets? On a Submarine?

HY-80 is TIG welded.

*the more you know*

Mr. Polly and Mama-San have been eying each other as if about to call in coordinates to some phantom air-force, but luckily the letter-opener vanished months ago and the Ikea fruit-knife is short enough that it wouldn’t go through more than a few subcutaneous layers of adipose tissue.

But plenty of people calling in for Census jobs are sleeping on friends’ couches, and don’t even have a zip code to call their own. I heard a serious fight down the hall yesterday.

Rivets? On a Submarine?

I was totally lied to by Hollywood movies.

Well, Len, now they may be TIG-welded, but don’t forget WW II P-class subs like the Pollack.

And you just know its going to get worse, there was some sort of Thanksgiving shooting in Florida today was there not?  Five people killed, including kids.

You mean the legend of the golden rivet is bogus?  I am devastated.

Since we *cough* forgot to invite the relatives we dislike, Thanksgiving dinner was very harmonious and pleasant - especially since my oldest daughter is back from 2-1/2 years in Korea.  The only casualty was me since I resumed my normal Type A behavior with regards to cooking and mastery of the kitchen until I had to cry “uncle” and turn it over to the chef son.  I’ve spent most of today lying down with the ankle elevated.  Dammit, I hate being mortal!!! (Dinner was excellent, though.)

Yikes. I escaped family this year only to avoid competing missives as to whether Jesus would return in 2012 or 2020. I am not kidding. I have countless relatives and this a serious and sober topic of debate. In any event, in between predicting the Apocalypse and passive aggressive asides about the sage in the turkey dressing or the homosexual cousin who dresses “like a woman and dances in gay bars”, they are generally an uneasy and cagey bunch. Victimized, superstitious and uneducated, but, they are my family: 2 brothers, 3 sisters and countless nephews and nieces, KKK uncles, and pinched faced Southern Baptist aunts. So goes the holidays in the south. Cheers All.

I avoided hostilities by arriving just as dinner was ready bearing my relish tray contribution, ate the dinner, proclaimed myself too full to wait for pie and was out of there in an hour.

Sometimes a Glock is the only way to fend off an overinsistent cook.

Reconciling “I want to see people eating their jalapeƱo cheesebread stuffing right now!” and “Don’t forget to save room for dessert!” is often a job requiring a varmint gun.

How are you, Cousin Jamie?

Betty, I am excellent and thank you for asking. Sadly I will have to make an appearance for Christmas at a family gathering. My only hope is that I can time it to miss a family member who has found Jesus again for about the 10th time. He seems quite confident this time. So much so that he has taken himself a “Christian Bride”, his fourth and is threating to take the the pulpit. I would love nothing better. I would have to disguise myself and sit in a back pew to hear one of his sermons. But nothing would give me more delight than to see a man married four times with legitimate and illegitimate children scattered across several counties stand up and tell folks how to lead their lives. This relative is my brother, Tommy. Why I am trying to avoid him is that lately he has taken to standing or sitting askance from me and glaring at me. It’s as if he looks hard enough he can see an opening somewhere to reach in and pull out the demon that possesses my soul. I am gay and agnostic/atheist and it drives him bat shit crazy. Anyway, I’ve rambled enough. How are things on our end? Cheers, Jamie

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