Colin Tristopher
Fixing Thanksgiving was my one goal this semester when I finally decided to buckle down and get a gym membership.
I can see it now; Aunt Vicky sets down the mashed potatoes and immediately begins to argue about how former US President Benjamin Harrison would have eaten her cooking until his stomach exploded. Then Uncle Ed spits on the cranberry sauce before stating that Harrison was a brittle, wussy, boy for dying from the flu. That’s when I pull off my festive sweater, grab the long loaf of bread and break it over my rock hard abs. How could they not stop what they were doing and compliment me on how hot I am?
My ex girlfriend was pretty conflicted when I told her I was doing it for my family and not for her. On one hand she thought I was way hotter but she also thought my reasoning was explicitly unsexy. She said “incest much?” and I said “lose my number much?”
Anyway, I’m trimming all the fat this holiday including those biscuits my grandma makes that are really bitchin’ but have so much butter. Maybe this year, she won’t tell us how dumb we are for voting for a candidate supported by the two party system if she can see how prominent my cum gutters are as I take a second helping of turkey.
I’ll do anything to make sure my toned ass is the most delicious morsel this Thanksgiving dinner.
Happy Thanksgiving, or whatever...