OK… Thanksgiving Past

Greetings and Good Evening to my Droogs in the Land of Humidity, Stupidity and faaaaaar to many (((New Yawk Transplants.)))

God help us on that one.

True Thanksgiving Story.

A few years back, pre-divorce from XHH6, I unwittingly agreed to going on a Cruise through the Caribbean with the Demon-in-Laws, the shithead Brother-in-Law, his Slut and spawn, and my Spawn.  Needless to say the hatred of the Demon-in-Laws was bone fuckin’ deep.  We hated each other with the passion of a THOUSAND burning suns…  I’m crediting the medications, self control and realization from my short stint in the pokey with the entire fuckin clan is still drawing O2 post-divorce.

I once spent 6 minutes with a Ruger Redhawk (stainless steel w/the 6-1/2inch barrel… the Classic Lone Wolf McQuade piece… shoulda never sold that cannon…. <sigh>) in hand explaining basic decency  and politeness in my own fucking house  to the fucking Female Demon in particular… I believe it was along the lines of “I have to put up with your shit in your fucking house but here on my turf?  Yer on Deadly Ground bitch.  I have killed for less”

I mean really?  How fucking stupid are you to poorly plan a frame job and rob a fucking fully accredited mercenary?   I mean thats like nuclear meltdown level dumbass… not even the fucking Democrats have been -that- fucking dumb…

Anyhoo… point of the story:  So Demon Brother preferred to do the southern fried turkey.  Never had it myself, and in keeping with safety, we set it up alll the way out in the backyard, (or what qualifies here in Florida as such… goddamned postage stamp is what it is…)  And we proceeded to cook said-bird and hoped like hell that the fucking thing didn’t go all “Dresden” on our asses…

Speaking of Dresden… so while we’re imbibing and watching the bird roil away in the grease, this (((Old Lady))) straight out of central casting comes over, and accosts us, insisting that we fuckin sell her the turkey that was going to be our dinner!!!!  I mean… Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?  Seems the Old Broad dug the whole fried bird thing, but due to age or what the fuck ever, decided that we needed to sell her what was our pre-departure meal.  To say we were taken aback was a bit of an understatement…

I will say, Demon Brother stood his ground quite well…  It was when she started invoking “I was in the Camps!” and tried to honest-to-God guilt us into selling her the bird is where I drew the line…  Told her “My Grandad had died in the fucking camps OK?  Quit pulling that shit on us!”  Thinking (((she))) had an ally, she started with the whole “Oy Vey!!!  How sad for you!” when I told her then (much to the unmitigated horror of Demon Bro,) that yeah, “Grandpappy had died in the Camps… broke his neck when he fell out of a Guard Tower.”

Needless to say that ended that particular pile of bullshit.

“And then suddenly, One day, Hitler was elected and the boxcars started running full time….”

Old Hustler Cartoon… before PC….

Dig it… Believe it or not, I don’t give a -flying fuck- what religion you are.  Or color.  Or sexual proclivity.  Big Country’s Golden Rule is “Do unto me as you’d want me to do unto you… and don’t fucking piss me off… It’s a bad idea.”  However it is strange that 2% of the world population controls
90% of the media, 70% of the banking, almost 95% of the jewelry biddness, and I could go on and on… and by doing this, even just mentioning it as a fact I’m considered an anti-semite!!!!!

Whatthefuckever.  Been called worse.  Prolly be called even worse as the years progress…

Well, gotta light the grill… steaks ain’t gonna cook theyselves.

Until then, I’m the still ill Intrepid Reporter
Big Country

By BigCountryExpat

Fuck you if you can't take a joke. No one gets out alive so eat me.


  1. Hey bruh… tried to order that sweet clown world shirt & mug off Zazzle, and they effing denied it, saying it "didn't meet their standards". You REALLY need a tip jar, or something. oh yeah, FUCK THOSE ASSTARDS! Sorry if you've already posted about those cocknozzles, I found your blog just a few days ago.

Leave a comment

Your email address will not be published.