This time I have to write up a dialogue of what happened during my Thanksgiving dinner, which is somewhat difficult, being that my family does not really celebrate it.
However, this will give me the marvelous opportunity to disturb the bejeesus out of my teacher (of course, that is not to say that I do not do that anyway.) by making up some sort of depressingly upsetting holiday tale.
Perhaps the turkey will be slightly overdone and because of that minor mishap with the oven timer, my mother's manic-depressive half-sister will attempt to commit sepuku with a butter knife.
But then, perhaps, Aunt Crazy will have that knife snatched out of her hands by lackadaisical Uncle Phil, who was not at all trying to spare her from her fate of buttery doom, but rather wanted something with which to cut open his crescent roll.
But, alas, as it turns out, that was the last crescent roll! A mad fist-fight breaks out amongst both the adult and the children's tables as they battle to the death over the warm, flaky pastry, unbeknownst to the lot of them that there was, in fact, another batch being baked at that very moment!
It shall be filled with so many dysfunctional family moments that it shall be on par with those of the hit daytime television talkshow Jerry Springer.
Only, except for Billy Bob cheating on his wife and secret-other-family-girlfriend, Billy Bob will be hogging all of the cranberry sauce, which, if you ask me, is about as evil as the former offense.
Hopefully writing this will not earn me a trip to the school's guidance counselor, though.
I do not enjoy my visits to their office, you see.
But, I believe that is all for this evening, dear readers.
Adieu.
