Lucky buggers, those Canucks. They may be boringly polite, think Rush made good music and play stupid sports, but, thanks to Yank voters vaguely coming to their senses, you and I won’t be picking up sticks and moving there. Luck of the Irish, if they weren’t Canadian.
I’m still thinking about it. The fishing’s much better, but since I can’t be arsed to pack the sock up and move thousands of miles again, I’m thankful to be staying put in Louisville awhile longer. So, since it’s Thanksgiving this week, why don’t we pretend to be thankful?
Alright, you’re on. For starters, I’m grateful I live here because Britain’s descent into even-more-miserable second-world status looks assured. Like Greece without the sunshine. Plus Teresa May might get the boot soon. That’s a twofer for me.
Britain brings us on to shit food, so I’m thankful that food truck regulations are nearly settled. Now I can finally buy food that tastes like overpriced disappointment anywhere I like. Progress.
There are a couple of good trucks — Dakshin, for example. But I’d have to agree. Good luck to them and all, but food truck nosh is one of life’s most overrated experiences. I’d rather have a cup of hot Bovril and battered Saveloy down at the Valley on a rainy Saturday afternoon in February — even before getting stuffed by some shite like Fleetwood Town.
Ah, the joys of English lower-division football. Anyway, we both agree on something — no longer being in Britain: I’m thankful for that too. Much as I love the idea of Albion, and the superiority complex being dragged there as a child has given me, Brexit is descending into a shitty episode of “Doctor Who,” only less believable. As Fintan O’Toole said, “We’ve never quite got over winning the war.” Although, it’s reassuring in one way: Nobody does unintentional farce quite like Brits.
Whenever I think you couldn’t be more of a tosspot, you insist on bringing up your “Doctor Who” hate and dig yourself into an even deeper hole. But hang on a sec... what did you say? Something about being dragged to Blighty as a child? Are you telling me you’re not genuinely of the Empire? Out with it, sunshine. Are you a fake Brit?
I’m as British as anyone else who thinks we still rule the world, while the foundations of society crumble, thank you very much. But, I was born in sunny Spain, so if Canada doesn’t work out, I can always retreat to the Costa del Sol.
Olé. We can but hope.
Always fancied the Spanish way of life. Like the French way of life, only warmer.
Having once shared an office with you, I can see why you’d enjoy living in a place where you can saunter into work at ten-ish, skive for a couple of hours, then spend the rest of the afternoon having a nap under your desk. But I think you’re too lazy for that lifestyle.
You think anyone who isn’t out running at 4 a.m. every morning is lazy, so I’ll ignore that. Anyway, I’m thankful for not having to eat turkey on Christmas Day — tempered, of course, by the depressing fact that I’ll have to eat it this week along with the dreadful sides that accompany it in this country. Sweet potatoes in sugar and marshmallows. Absolutely abominable.
On the plus side, it’s going to be a miserable Thanksgiving at Mar-a-Lago: wee Barron making sculptures of his daddy from yams, while Junior shits bricks knowing he’ll soon be sharing a small room with a large man who has not had carnal relations in years... all while Grandad rants and raves in front of the telly. Do you have any nominations for Turkey of the Year, by the way?
Angela Leet, bless her heart, who lost the mayoral election mainly because she was busted gleefully clapping at a Trump rally. McConnell, for continuing to represent racists, criminals, mobsters, misogynists and basically every scumbag in the country and then being surprised that educated people in the suburbs aren’t into that.
As the old gag goes, what do you call nine people sitting at a table with a Nazi? Ten Nazis. Mitch should take note.
Bevin must be the favourite for Turkey of the Year. Fires bazookas on YouTube, calls for the blood of patriots to be spilled to defend conservatism, wants to “break the backs” of teachers and then blames gun violence on abortion and zombies. Got more front than Brighton. Not even Thomas Massie, the Don Quixote of the Bluegrass, is so many sandwiches short of a picnic. Well, he probably is, but he sensibly keeps it between him and his solar panels.
Haven’t you called Bevin “smart” before? That puts you in line for Turkey of the Year too.
Pub fascists always seem intelligent to the unintelligent.
Right, hence my lack of surprise when you called him “smart.”
He’s either smart in a deeply cynical, cruel way, willing to gin up to the worst instincts of Kentucky’s voters because of the power it gives him, or he’s deeply unintelligent, and the yokels are in even worse shape than we imagine.
Political contenders for Turkey of the Year are plentiful, especially in Kentucky. What do you know about Rocky Adkins?
I know he’s not Andy Beshear, whom Bevin’ll crush without mercy. Strong name, too, Rocky. I’m not sure how he’ll fare dragging a bird from Louisville along as a running mate, though. Still, why not? He couldn’t do worse than Lundergan Grimes, since he seems prepared to run as a Democrat.
I think I’m going outside politics for my nominee. Zuckerberg is my choice. Turned himself into one of the great villains this year by defending Holocaust denialists, Nazis and just about every other kind of scumbag on his own platform because monetising human beings is more important to him than, well, human beings. I love Facebook, but Zuck can and will go to hell.
Hard to argue with that. Zuckerberg is one turkey who isn’t getting a pardon from us. A clear winner.
