FRANKLIN – Thanksgiving for the Spearce family began innocuously enough Thursday, as family members got together to celebrate and give thanks for the many blessings in their lives. The turkey was carved to perfection, the dressing and yams all delicious, and the pumpkin pie was to die for.
These things all became a distant memory, however, when Uncle Felton sullied an otherwise promising day with his unsavory behavior. Guests thought they had all dodged a bullet, remarking with whispers to each other during lunch, that Uncle Felton seemed “mighty sober for it to be lunch already.” These thoughts quickly faded, however, as the day dragged on.
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“During the Texans game, he wasn’t so bad,” remarked Cousin Jed, “I didn’t notice any speech slurring, and I only heard hells and damns as his most blue commentary. And he even managed to not switch to Antiques Roadshow during a commercial and leave it there for 30 minutes, pissing off the entire room, but we all spoke too soon.”
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“I knew it was about to get bad, about the time the Detroit game was headed to overtime,” said Aunt Sally. “I noticed he had been sneaking bourbon into his Coke when he thought no one was looking, and then on top of that, he pretended he was just social drinking with a glass of wine. Boy was he right when the Cowboys kicked off.”
“Is he drinking that damn bourbon again?” asked Felton’s wife, Carol, from another room. “I knew we should have hidden it better. Now he’s gonna act like a damn fool for the rest of the night. It’s just damn ridiculous. He can go get his own damn turkey for dinner, makes me sick.”
As the first quarter of the Redskins-Cowboys game ticked away, relatives noticed Uncle Felton was sinking into an involuntary slouch in his chair. Just as they thought he may slide right out of the chair, Uncle Felton began unbuttoning his pants to give his gut more room to digest the feast eaten a few hours before. He then proceeded to give his own version of the State of the Union, whether anyone wanted to hear it or not. “The damn Republicans just didn’t have their shit together this time. All these damn f—— young folks,” said Felton. Uncle Felton then polled the room, asking who they voted for. At this point in time, RG3 hit Pierre Garcon on a long bomb, and a touchdown dance ensued. “I can’t stand it when they do that shit,” said Felton, “dancing around like a G—D— jackass.”
Still irate at the world, Uncle Felton grabbed for his empty glass of bourbon, and stood up to go refill his glass. With his pants still unbuttoned, Felton’s khakis were quickly around his ankles, leaving just an ever-thinning pair of tighty-whities between his package and the shocked gazes of all who were unlucky enough to be present. Momentarily unaware of his depantsing, Uncle Felton began to walk to the kitchen until he became aware of the burdensome clothes around his ankles, causing him to walk like a penguin. Unphased and unwilling to set his drinking glass down, Felton bellowed out, “Carol! Carol! Come pull my pants up!” Carol, always an eager host, quickly came to the room’s rescue, pulling up the pants, as guests were unsure whether to acknowledge what just happened, or fixate on the game, as RG3 threw yet another damn touchdown pass.
“That was uncomfortable,” said Felton’s niece, Jethrine, “that was not a pleasant view from behind.” “Well, you could have seen the view from the front,” retorted cousin Elaine. Uncle Ted chimed in, “Well, y’all kept cooing over Magic Mike all day. Keep saying the devil’s name, and he’s sure to show up in your living room. That’s what you get.”
As the first half wound down, and no relief in sight, guests began pondering how best to make a graceful exit. With around 5 minutes left in the half, the Fox broadcast cut to commercial. The TV channel was then switched to QVC, where a bitchin’ space heater was on display. At that point in time, cousin Jed, having had enough, gracefully bowed out, saying, “I got to get home and feed them deer dogs, got the big hunt tomorrow.
Cousin Nell summed up the holiday, saying, “Well, I reckon we can all be thankful we don’t have to be back over here until Christmas.”