Thanksgiving is one of the biggest house-party days in the American party calendar. You stuff yourself full of food, pour booze down your gullet all night, and try to fend off crippling boredom with a roomful of people, many of whom you don't know all that well. Eighteen of us have gathered in a lovely home; our hostess has created a punch involving sparkling cider and cinnamon schnapps ("HOT DAMN! 100 PROOF" screams the label of the latter), someone else brought a bottle of Wild Turkey (get it?), and buzzed partyers are lounging on couches trying to ignore their ruptured bellies.
Some are reminiscing over their worst Thanksgivings ever. One man had to create an entire Thanksgiving meal for his friends solely out of products bought at a 7-Eleven. Someone else invited an orphaned friend to his parents' house; his friend repaid that kindness by spending the night on the family couch loudly masturbating.
Others are watching Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck DVDs, which prove to be a perfect distraction. The young children in the room seem to respond more readily to Bugs Bunny, while the adults prefer Daffy Duck. This makes sense. Bugs Bunny is always provoked out of innocence into action and, ultimately, victory; this is a child's response to the world. But the adults know the truth: Like Daffy, we are greedy, immoral monsters who sometimes cause our own downfalls, and sometimes, for no good reason, we come out on top, even when we are shamelessly craven and dethpicable.
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