Thursday, November 28, 2013

See Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade in under 10 seconds.

In this post: The real Santa Claus, a Thanksgiving Day confession.

Yee-haw and HAPPY THANKSGIVING, people! Although I’ve run through the Howdygram’s entire holiday menu in a couple of previous posts I’ll include it again for you now in case you give a remote crap about this: 1) a Boston Market turkey thing that you have to bake for 90 minutes; 2) a small definitely-NOT-worth-the-price container of Boston Market’s spinach casserole; 3) a box of turkey Stove Top stuffing; 4) a can of Ocean Spray cranberry sauce; and 5) gravy. From a jar.

For dessert Sam will consume a pumpkin pie as big as a radial tire with an entire can of Reddi Whip. I can’t have any because I’m diabetic, but that’s okay ... watching him eat pie is the best part of our evening entertainment. However, since we’re figuring on dinner at 5 p.m. I have to get our turkey thing in the oven RIGHT NOW. (Excuse me for a few minutes. Thank you.)

In case you missed Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade this morning on TV — or avoided it on purpose, like we did — I’m pleased to provide the following four animated GIFs with highlights of the entire event. From top to bottom: Al Roker, the Rockettes, Ronald McDonald (terrifying) and Spongebob Squarepants (nice teeth).

In case you’re wondering, I decided not to bother with a GIF of Santa because he didn’t look anything like Edmund Gwenn. I refuse to accept substitutes.
And now for a frightening Thanksgiving Day confession. It’s 4:25 p.m., our turkey is in the oven and I’M CRAVING A CAN OF HORMEL TAMALES. No kidding. I don’t want turkey or stuffing or gravy or that overpriced spinach casserole, and I’m guessing this is because my taste disorder is back (another joyous side effect of diabetic neuropathy) and the typical Thanksgiving meal doesn’t have enough flavor to elevate it above ordinary cardboard. Canned tamales, on the other hand, TOTALLY ROCK, and I’ve got a  case of 12 in the pantry waiting for the perfect occasion. This might be it. And Sam is so understanding of my neuropathy horseshit that I don’t think he’d blink an eye if I told him I wanted cheap Hormel tamales in runny mock-chili sauce for dinner tonight. God bless Sam.

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