Alcohol consumption ran
amok in parts of my family, which explains why I don't
drink. One fine
Thanksgiving, my mother and stepfather bundled my brother and I up in uncomfortable clothes to bring us to a family gathering.
A frat house kegger was more like it. My stepfather immediately sought out the nearest bottle of Jack Daniels and my step-uncles were way ahead of him. It was like we all travelled to a Jack Daniels competition for the most guzzling of free booze in the least time period.
After several bottles were gone with seven people drinking, the drunks were called to order by Gramma. One of my step-uncles, upon spying the beautiful golden-brown turkey on a platter, shouted with glee, "Holy FUCK! Whadda big-ass FOOTBALL!" He then proceeded to take this steaming hot bird and toss a perfect spiral right through the living room window.
Much hilarity ensued. The step-uncles proceeded to beat the shit out of Mr. Football while Gramma, tears streaming down her face, tried in vain to flush the baked ham down the toilet. Mr. Football was monkey-flipped onto the dining room table, causing all the trimmings to become an abstract art piece on the wall.
The phone rang, and Gramma, fresh from the flush, answered the phone in a shrieking voice, "IT'S A FUCKING MADHOUSE!" She then took the phone onto the porch and tossed it in the lake.
At this point my Mom decided to take us home, much to our dismay. We didn't see stepdad until two days later, sporting two big black eyes.
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