Pajiba

Never had any terrible Thanksgivings, unfortnately. When my aunt was a teenager, she and my grandfather would yell at each other a lot, but it was more annoying for the hour I had to spend listening to both parties explain why the other was "stupid" than it was horrifying.

You do a contest at Christmas, though, and I'll submit a tale or two...

Oh, this isn't even going to be fair. Here you go:

Last Thanksgiving the husband, kid, myself and inlaws are eating. We heard screaming. Not kiddos-playing screaming but something-is-seriously-wrong screaming. (This sucks to tell, by the way.) Anyway, huband goes to check it out and this young woman is screaming because her mom is choking and one neighbor is over helping, so my husband goes to help, he and the neighbor perform CPR and I help the girl on the line with dispatch give directions, then I wait to direct them to the house. Long story short, police get lost, they put the woman in the back of our truck, drive her the block to the hospital and we leave because, it's out of our hands. We sit down and try to eat (yeah) and the neighbor who was helping comes by an hour later and yeah, the lady died. It was a terrible thanksgiving for us and I can't imagine how that girl felt.

Uh, maybe I went a little to serious with the topic. Sorry.

I don't think I want to read any story that can top TWo_P's. Can we mail out the dvds and get back to happier topics?

Well, that took an ugly turn pretty quick, didn't it?

Well at least you might get a DVD set out of it.

Our Thanksgiving tale begins at 4am. Wife and I have learned from the internets that a turkey must be cooked 20 minutes per pound. Our turkey is 22lb and guests arrive at 1pm, so the alarm has been set for 4. Mindlessly we fetch the bird, stuff the bird and begin to roast the bird.

Suddenly and without warning, no less than 17 ninjas enter our home (although I would not be at all surprised to learn that many more were there that I could not detect). They are from Japan and do not celebrate Thanksgiving, but they have tasted my wife's turkey and proclaim that none shall have it but them. They intend to wait until the bird is done, and in the meantime shall protect it from competative marauders (they communicate this all using sophisticated sign-language which my wife was able to learn on her miraculous adventures across Asia).

We go back to bed. When we awake again at 8am, the turkey is miraculously and mysteriously done cooking. Though they would not confirm or deny this, I suspect ninja magic. Both wife and I wonder aloud why the internets are such filthy goddamm liars. I attempt to bash her laptop into dust using one of the cats (who thought our earlier awakening meant it was time to play), but wife stopped me with a kurt and annoyed reminder that my pornography would also be destroyed. The cat and I exchange a knowing look of rivalry, which has, as of yet, gone unresolved.

Preparing the rest of the meal is a struggle, because our home is filled with the corpses of pirates, clowns, robots, and orcs. Silently in the night, the ninjas have guarded our meal well from the potential theives; and though it is well appreciated, we are both very annoyed that they have not had the courtesy to dispose of the bodies (the prior evening, wife and I worked late into the night to make certain that our home's cleanliness was up to her mother's white-gloved-standards). Luckily wife and I find jugs of gin on the pirate corpses, which makes the rest of the morning go much more smoothly.

I bury the various turkey theives in a mass grave behind the shed (which I am lucky to have already prepared, just in case the topic of homosexual marriage came up around the dinner table betwixt myself and my wife's ignorant sister, who does not see the irony of her judgement despite having had a child out of wedlock).

Soon, Wife's family begins to arrive. We serve the meal and the day goes smoothly (no-one is afforded seconds because the turkey has mysteriously vanished; a shiver of terror travels down my spine as I fear that death will come for me on the tip of a poisoned shiruken -- ninja trechery). My wife's strange new cousin, who seems to have forgotten that she is wearing a dress as she lounges on our sofa, has brought a dessert dish that looks very much like my mother's dildo (which I tragically stumbled upon in high-school whilst searching my parents dresser for a favorite t-shirt). Each of our guests engorge themselves on the penis-pastry, but my wife and I abstain.

Though I am not exactly sure what went into the log's creation, I'm certain that at least one ingredient was the cursed blood of a cyclopean albino infant, because no sooner do they swallow their last bites than they turn into ravenous, mindless zombies.

My wife and I flee to the upstairs bathroom while the zombified remains of her family chase after us, nipping and scratching at our heels. Their barely human, gutteral moanings are maddening. "I don't know how to use this bottle opener!" they shout, drooling from their horrible maws. "What is this music? It's horrible" they groan at us, clawing at the door. "It's the Fratellis" I yell back, but to no avail; their gluttonous rage will not be sated. "Chelsea Dagger is a great song," is not a suitable taunt for stopping mindless zombies (who wonder why there is no Pat Benatar on my 80gb ipod).

I cradle her in my arms while she weeps. She confesses that she wants to drown my face in the toilet if I ask her one more time what she is thankful for. I tell her that it is a coping mechanism I developed the last time I had to fight back an undead hoarde (a tragic tale that will teach you the dangers of planting trees, and that which prompts me to send out arbor-day cards filled with confetti every year). We are certain that death is upon us.

Eventually the rain dies down, the shreiks subside and a peaceful silence permeates the house. We open the door to find that her family has gone in search of other food, leaving us the arduous task of cleaning up. Wife focuses on getting things back in order while I wash every dish in the house. Seriously, every single fucking dish. By hand.

We change clothes and settle in. We decide to watch a movie because neither of us has the energy to manipulate the DVR. "Black Dynamite" I suggest and Wife's eyes light up. We don't make it past the opening credits before we're both asleep on the couch.

I don't usually fall asleep to movies; I suspect ninja magic.

Umm, now I feel terrible for being silly. Just read the other story where someone dies.

Yaaaay, Thanksgiving!

[slinks away]

superasente, I thought your story was awesome. My Thanksgiving totally needed more ninjas.

Sorry, I don't know what happened to my previous message. TPTB can delete it if you want to. Sending love and hugs to Dingles and TWOP_Fan. Both situations sound very sad. Superasente, I like your story. Life always needs more ninjas!

Community is my favorite show. Thanksgiving used to be my favorite holiday.

Three days ago my boyfriend helped me load my luggage in my car to go home for Thanksgiving. This is because I have a severe back injury, and he's been kindly helping in every way possible as I recover. I told him to have a good time at his parents' and that I was happy he was going home this weekend so he could come home with me for Christmas this year. He kissed me goodbye and said he'd miss me.

The trip took a lot out of me and I spent all Wednesday in bed in severe pain. That afternoon, my phone rang and I perked up, assuming it was my boyfriend calling to check up on me. I happily picked up the phone. His voice was choked. And I knew right then that he was breaking up with me.

I dated him for six years. I lived with him for three. In the past months, he's given no clue that he was unhappy with our relationship, only that he was unhappy with work. And he called to tell me that when I get back on Monday, he'll have moved out all of his things.

Six years, and I get a phone breakup. And now I'm stuck at my parents' the rest of the weekend, practically bedridden, not sleeping, not eating, all while surrounded by my favorite foods. And when I finally go home, my home won't be home anymore. This might not be the worst Thanksgiving anyone's ever had, but I'm pretty sure it'll be mine.

I'm pretty sure I may have already told this tale, but seeing as how it's for a copy of Community I sale tell it again.

One Thanksgiving me and couple of guys I work with decided that since we had no family with which to celebrate the holiday season, we'd just try our luck at a little roulette in a small casino about an hour away from Ramstein Air Base in Germany on the recommendation of our Supervisor from the Ariel Port we worked at. Also we were told there was a ten dollar buffet and that all drinks were free. So really we go there with the hopes of consuming as much alcohol as humanly possible before being thrown out on our inebriated asses, especially considering the fact not a one of us knew anything about roulette. But oddly enough we start winning. The more we drink, the more we win, till eventually the 30 Euro we came in with has grown to 100, 200, 300 Euro. So now rich on newly acquired money and drink, my friends decide the fact that a 20 year old boy who hasn't had his dick engulfed in anything aside from the tight confines of his own hairy fist and the occasional tube sock is in the act of committing a truly hell worthy trespass, and that even though giving yourself the old two knuckle shuffle while listening to the rhythmic incantations of moans and bouncing bed springs coming from the next room is convenient, nothing beats the real thing. So my cohorts decide to put their new found wealth to good use and take me to a whore house. Now usually I would be against this idea, seeing as how it's sad enough to be unable to get a woman on your own merit let alone finding out that the only way such an occurrence is possible is paying for it, but not that night. Oh no, for I am Chateau Shitfaced, so I yell "To the whore house" in a volume far exceeding normal standards of speech next to couple of old, now frightened German woman, and off we go.

So we soon find ourselves at the "Four Floors of Whores", and don't let the name full you, it is in fact an old four story hotel filled with whores. The whores each have their own room and as long as the door too said room isn't closed, then you may pick you out one (or more) whores who you can usually find in some various stage of undress. Now my buddies being the ones paying for this excursion decide they get to pick my whore, which frightens me to no end, but they do me a solid and manage to find me a truly beautiful specimen, the aptly named Brazilian Whore. So they push me into her room, give her the money, and escort her down stairs to her pimp to finalize the transaction leaving me alone in the room. She returns tells me in her best English to get comfortable and she'll be right back. Bad choice of words cause I am as far from being comfortable as I've ever been, but I'm sure from my extensive years watching late night films on Miramax that get comfortable is slang for get bare ass. So I begin to undress but can't bring myself to remove my boxers cause I am certain that somewhere my grandparents are shaking their heads in shame and that my mother has strategically placed a nanny cam somewhere in the room, knowing that one day I'd be there in that very room, at that very time, halfway around the fucking world about to do the herpes dance and she'd have all the proof to chastise me for the rest of my life.

Now the way the friends tell it, Brazilian Whore came down stairs with them, gave the mistress of the house the money and returned upstairs, only to return a second time to grab a towel, lube, condoms, and any other necessary implements needed to get me off, and then returns back upstairs again. Not a minute goes by when Brazilian Whore comes running down the stairs a third and final time straight to her mistress and becomes involved in a lengthy argument.

What happened is this. Brazilian Whore returned to the room carrying the towel, condoms and lube to find me still in my boxers. The now slightly frustrated Brazilian Whore strips naked, pushes me onto the bed, and rips by boxers asunder. She immediately begins to kiss me all over, rubbing me down in an attempt to petrify my wood, which takes no time at all. Then she sits up takes a condom wrapper and rips it open and sticks the condom in her mouth. Now at that moment, I can't for the life of me understand why she did that and I'm trying to wrap my head around that concept when she decides to to exactly that very thing her mouth. And that was all that was written. She bobs a couple of times but she knows something is different. So she pulls away and looks down at my penis, and then at me, and back down to my penis and this quizzical almost confused look crosses her face as if premature ejaculation is the most obscure and unanticipated occurrence in her line of work, which if I am not mistaking is getting guys to fucking EJACULATE. And then she utters the only two words that entire night that come out coherent and clear, as if God himself is dictating his shock and utter disappointment through this beautiful woman at that very moment, "REALLY? REALLY?". And I can't help it, I begin to cry, and apologize to this whore, this tart, this lady of the evening. But it's while she's watching tears stream down my face, that this strumpet, this cortizan, this woman whose profession has been around since the dawn of time who not a second ago was shaming me tries to become something bigger than herself, god bless her she tries to be A FUCKING SAINT. She hops off the bed, still naked, and runs out the room, deaf to my desperate cries of NOOOOO! She runs down the stairs, straight to her mistress, and this Mother Fucking Teresa of the Fellatic Arts demands a refund for my friends. RIGHT FUCKING IN FRONT OF THEM. I can hear four floors up, my friends laughing, for what feels like hours, god only knows what the other occupants were thinking. Finally after fighting back the tears of shear joy, my friends tell the mistress that no refund is nessasary because hearing a prostitute demand a refund after attempting to have sex with me is more than they could have ever dreamed of, and well worth their combined 80 Euro.

This story has managed to preceed me to every base I've ever been to. People know me, before they ever get to know me. And it really doesn't help that this is the stories my friends use at bars to break the ice when in the company of women.

FUCK MY LIFE...

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Oh my god, dude; that is the funniest fucking story I've ever heard in my life! Awesome!

You're my new favorite Pajiban. Of all time, forever.

...well, I'm just buying the box set. There's no way I can compete with any of these stories.

I am thankful for friends with US shipping addresses so I can take advantage of this deal.

And hugs to Jade, Dingles and Twop_Fan!

Do you hear that DR? You'd better have a fucking Christmas DVD competition!

My wife and I had planned on telling everyone at Thanksgiving dinner that we were expecting a baby. Instead, she had a miscarriage Monday night.

You can keep the DVDs, I just needed to vent before I explode in rage/sadness. Also, I'm a Blu-ray snob.

Ugh. Brigs. I am so sorry.

Brigs, so sorry to hear your sad news.

And hugs to Jade, Dingles and Twop_Fan!

Yes, that too.

I don't have any stories, but I have a link with turkeys on fire:

http://gizmodo.com/5699457/the-7-best-deep+fried-turkey-disaster-videos

Yep, I totally just bought that.

What Nosio said, to all, especially Briggs. With nothing to do but sit in bed and aimlessly check the internet, it's nice to turn to the Pajiba community (I rarely post, but have been regularly reading for ages).

Since Twop Fan asked, and since I can't sleep, I'll elaborate. Essentially, he said, "I'm unhappy." I didn't let him get much further, because I was mostly screaming and crying at him for being a complete coward to let me leave before doing this. I essentially told him that we weren't having this conversation until I got home, and even offered to load up on pain pills and try to drive home that night. He wouldn't hear of it (truthfully I probably couldn't have made it), and then explained that he was going home for the holiday and would return Sunday to move everything out before I got back. He said he wanted to talk to his parents about his decision, but that essentially, while he still loves me, he doesn't see us having a future together, because he doesn't think he loves me enough. (I should add that I'm in grad school and have never once pressured him about marriage or children, as I don't know yet that I want either and certainly don't want them until I'm finished.)

I asked (begged is probably closer) for him to stay and talk with me, to at least try to save what we have before walking out. He claimed that he had been trying, for months. Of course, given that he didn't once reveal his feelings to me, even when I questioned him, feels very much to me like he never really tried, because it was never US trying--just him by himself. And it isn't as if we've been fighting, or sitting around listlessly--we've traveled, we've gone out, we've seen shows, we've celebrated birthdays. Everything has been the same as it's always been.

He's promised to be there to talk on Monday when I come home, and hopefully he'll be more open with me then. I'm trying to keep some small glimmer of hope alive that maybe we can talk through it. But it seems like something that he doesn't even understand fully himself. Like he has an ideal of what his life should look like, of what love should be like, and that what we have isn't it. His parents are still together, but they've split up numerous times over the years (they're both recovering alcoholics) and have a highly volatile relationship. I honestly wonder if he just doesn't know what happiness and compatibility looks like.

I'm trying really hard not to be angry or bitter, because I feel like those aren't very productive emotions for recovery. He's rightly pointed out that there's no good way or time to break up with someone. But when I think about all of his actions and words, they seem preternaturally calculated to make this as shocking and devastating and world-upending as possible. We live in an area that is too expensive for me to afford on my own, or even with a roommate. I'll have to move, and while he's had months to consider the possibility, and the salary to afford our apartment if and when I leave, I don't.

I feel like the only thing I can be thankful for this year is that we weren't married and had no pets or children.

And now I feel bad, because as creepy-amusing as my story is, it doesn't compare to death. All I have is lesbianism and slight incest. So sorry to all who posted truly devastating Thanksgiving stories.

I had turducken. But the chicken was stuffed with cardboard instead of stuffing. It was terrifying.

Wow, Jade, I have no words of wisdom or anything, just my sympathies and well-wishes, for you and everyone else that had a sad/creepy/amusingly traumatic story.

Oh my GOD, EJ wins.

Jesus.

When I was a sophomore in college, this guy I was dating asked me if I'd like to go home with him for Thanksgiving. We'd only been together a few months, but I decided it might be a fun road trip. When we arrived at his house (after a 6+ hour drive), his parents met us at the door with confused looks on their faces. Not ONLY did he not tell them he was bringing me home, he didn't tell them he was even dating me. He had a valid reason, though... HE ALREADY HAD A GIRLFRIEND! He had been dating this girl since high school and was too chicken shit to break up with her, so he brought me home with him so that she'd break up with him!

Needless to say, it was a TERRIBLY uncomfortable weekend. His parents were at least nice to me after I explained to them that I had NO CLUE he had a girlfriend. Everyone else was totally weird, though. The worst part was when he took me bowling with him and his friends and his GIRLFRIEND (who at this point had heard about me) was there. She cried and cried and I ended up having to console her since he wouldn't go near her to even talk.

Needless to say it was a very quiet six hour ride home and I ended things once I got out of the car at my dorm by slamming the door and never speaking to him again.

Um, put this in the "grim and depressing" category. When I was about 12, our next-door neighbor blew his brains out on Thanksgiving. I was the one who got up from the table and opened the door when their little girl rang our bell to say there had been a loud noise in the basement and now Mommy was screaming. I'll spare you further details, but it's still a vivid memory to me and my siblings.

I jumped in my truck and with 24 miles into a full tank it wouldn't start, behaved like it was out of gas. I finally gave up (after forcing about 5 more gallons out of a busted fuel line I imagine) and one of the hosts drove over to pick me up. We ran to the store for the final fixings that didn't make the other 18 last-minute-oh-I-forgot shopping lists and on to his house.

We walk into the house and it is somber, especially for my host/driver. He immediately thinks something happened to his parents who are on their way in from snowy Eastern Oregon via bus. No, not his parents, but his dog has just died. Just laid down and died. His partner was just returning from moving the body from the living room to the garage.

My worst thanksgiving was the one where I found out that I could win Season one of Community a day after I went and bought the damn thing. Wal-Mart had it for $12 too though so I win anyway I suppose even though that was the only good thing to come out of that horrid trip.

I went Black Friday shopping at 3 in the morning in hopes of getting a super cheap laptop only to find a line for those way longer than the amount they had. They told people this but they stood in line for hours anyway.

I watched the whole season of Community in a day and I finally see what everyone was so excited about. I watched an episode or two this season online and it didn't seem to be as good as everyone said. I was mistaken. I love this show now.

Jade-
I know what you're going through. This isn't a Thanksgiving story it's a Christmas story. On Christmas, 1999, I was home from college for Christmas break and I called my boyfriend first thing in the morning before I'd even seen my family. His sister picked up the phone, and was really distant (which was odd, because we got along really well), and rather than letting me talk to my boyfriend, asked me if I'd read my e-mail ... you can see where this is going. So I open up my e-mail and discover that I have been dumped (he, too, had helped me pack things into my car for Christmas break and had not mentioned anything about any problems between us. When I finally talked to him on the phone, he didn't understand why I was so upset, and told me that since it was Christmas I would be occupied with other things, and then actually asked if "the only thing we're going to talk about now is the break-up, can't we move on?" I was going to spend New Year's with his family, and had already bought plane tickets (we went to the same college but our families lived in different states), so in the spirit of "being friends" I decided to go spend New Year's with his family. Horrible mistake. I got there and discovered that his "Christmas Present" to another girl was dumping me and becoming her boyfriend. I spent a week in a middle-of-nowhere town watching them flirt and make-out (and, remarkably, NOT going on a killing spree).

This is hardly tragic, but it always makes for a funny reminder whenever someone brings it up.

On year when I was a kid my mom bought a ginormous turkey, on which all 5 of us feasted, along with all the side and trimmings. After stuffing ourselves, the adults got sleepy and wandered off to take naps without clearing the table. I walked back into our dining room to find our cat up on the table, face deep in turkey with her paws wrapped around the bird. It felt like that scene in a Christmas Story, "The heavenly aroma still hung in the house. But it was gone, all gone! No turkey! No turkey sandwiches! No turkey salad! No turkey gravy! Turkey Hash! Turkey a la King! Or gallons of turkey soup! Gone, ALL GONE!"

Since that day we always pack up leftovers right after we eat.