Rhoda Bloom prepares for Thanksgiving and wow is it going to suck.

Yeah it’s Rhoda Bloom again and Thanksgiving is only a few days away. This is usually the time when I hear “friends” and “family” say how much they’re looking forward to the holidays and I’m already doing that thing where you press really hard on your leg till it gets as numb as your desire to be with family and friends at the holidays. 
 
You may have noticed I put those words, “friends” and “family” in quotations. That’s because I don’t have any friends and my family members are the people I sit with and tune out like they’re ghosts and I’m on a scary old pirate ship by myself and trying to pretend they’re not there so I don’t scream. 
 
I’m sure that whoever you are is great and that you’re planning a sumptuous Thanksgiving day with people who love you. Except that when you really think about it, they’re just there to put up with you for a few hours and then get in their cars and talk about how much you suck and then laugh about it. Do you know at the actual first Thanksgiving they didn’t even talk to each other and both groups were like, “Are they going to kill me?” and the whole time they also thought, “Should we just kill these motherfuckers? Should we fucking do it? Because if we don’t they’re going to fucking kill us first.” Just speculating, but that’s pretty much what I assume my “family” is thinking the whole time we eat too.
 
I’m writing a screenplay about a girl who’s dying of a terminal disease but then it turns out everyone on the planet has the same disease and she’s just the first one to figure it out. Sorry. That has nothing to do with Thanksgiving except that I guess everyone in that fictional world would have a pretty shitty one or not even make it to Thanksgiving depending on what month I decide to set it in. O.K. I just did it. January. So they're all dead by mid September. Except maybe one guy who’s immune, and he spends Thanksgiving all by himself, as the last man on Earth and he pretty much feels the same as I do every Thanksgiving. 
 
For the past few months I’ve also been thinking that maybe Thanksgiving is just a fucked up test that the aliens put into the simulation we’re all living in. Like they want us to be thankful for the hellish fake world they created for us and then when we talk about how great it is to be alive they sit there and go, “Yeah, they’re all masochists. Let’s make this more hellish.”
 
But after that I start thinking there’s no way we’re in a simulation because that would mean there was some kind of actual control over things instead of everything being random crap like turducken and Neapolitan ice cream and Florida. 
 
Anyway, do you even know how to cook a fucking turkey? Just a question, but there’s no way you do. And if you do know, then that means you understand how to pull things out of its butthole and baste it and stuff it and then baste it again with the inseminator tool. And what does that say about you?
 
Sorry. Not judging. Just speculating that cooking the turkey might be a weird sex thing you’re into and not about being thankful for anything other than you getting to sexually assault a dead turkey with your fist. Again, not judging. It’s less fucked up than what I’m into, which is just slowly picturing myself dead every second of my life until I finally am. 
 
I guess with that, I want to say Happy Thanksgiving? Enjoy your holiday. I’m done writing now. Goodbye.
 
 
Rhoda Bloom is just a person who wrote this. She does not work for the Intergalactic Business Report. But you can leave a message for her at [email protected].

IBR MERCH