It's a grand American tradition, and nowhere is the Thanksgiving tradition more honored than here at Bagwine Ruminations.
Let's take a look at some previous Thanksgiving related Bagwine pictures, videos, and stories shall we?
It's Thanksgiving week, bitches!! And we'll be celebrating all week. Enjoy.
An Inky and Lola Spin-Off...
A moving song I wrote some two years and 35 pounds ago...
A future look at Thanksgiving that I wrote in 2008...
I thought I would channel my magical six and a half pound turkey breast, Lola Fowllana, to see what future Thanksgivings may hold for me…
Say, in twenty years from now.
Man, by that time my kid will be 34. I’ll be nearly 64, and my nutsack will have dropped down another 8 inches.
Instead of being nearly bald, I will be completely bald. I won’t have any of my real teeth, but by God, I will have a set of futuristic dentures.
I’ll still cook a bird, potatoes, dressing, and since I’ll have teeth, I may even have some maize on the cob.
I’ll just have to make sure not to overdue it, lest my brand new colostomy bag break open like a New Orleans levee.
That would certainly put a damper, not to mention an intolerable stench, on the holiday.
I don’t know if Schmoop will still be with me.
I mean, as it is now, I walk around the abode all day, half naked scratching my boys, by then I will have completely given up on life and just walk around all day fully naked scratching them.
I can see how she might grow weary of that.
Then again, she might not even notice ‘cause she’ll be too busy trying not to trip over her 40 Cs that are in a race to the floor with my aforementioned nutsack.
Eh, we’ll be together. I think Satan has made a pact with God on that. Besides, who would color her hair and get things cooked prior to the big feast?
Perhaps my son and his new wife will stop by to see dear old Dad. That would be nice.
I would give him a big hug, and give his sexy, tall, spouse with the perfect breasts an even tighter and longer lasting one...and some tongue.
Then they’ll leave and go over to his mom’s for Thanksgiving dinner. And once again, it will be just Schmoop and I.
We’ll make a toast. I’ll serve the food...
And then, maybe when we are done eating, we will, as we now do most Saturday nights, slow dance to a song or two in our tiny apartment.
Exhausted from the big day, we will go to bed, smile at each other, and exchange a soft kiss and our goodnights.
Then, as I roll over to turn out the light…
I'll see that the clock reads Six-O'-Fucking-Clock P.M.!!