ELL, HERE WE ARE AGAIN!
Yes, it's true. Your Seanny is still here, appearing, once again, just when it's time to possibly promote his wonderful writing stuff. Yeah, don't hate me because I'm a capitalist. Give Thanks, k?
But for us Americans, we're gonna celebrate Thanksgiving in a few days (Thursday, November 23, to be precise). It's a really cool tradition. The first Pilgrims (those Puritan peeps what came over from evil England) allegedly celebrated the first Thanksgiving way back in the 1600s (long before I was available). There was corn (provided by those Native Americans—what we now realize were ignerntly appeasing their overtakers), fresh-squeezed butter, sweet taters ("yams" to those of you in Boring), green olives (gotta love those Greeks), mashed taters, cranberry gel (freshly forced out of cans), and of course punkin pie. It was all good. That first Thanksgiving.
Anyhoo, many years L8r, President Lincoln (I think) declared the first official gub'ment recognition of an official four-day-US-holiday: Thanksgiving.
Now, all us Americans hop on our under-developed, under-maintained highways, hoping the infrastructure we PAY our CONGRESS to MAINTAIN, UPGRADE and stuff—will provide adequate access for us to go Over The River and Through the Woods to Grandmother's House. We go. (Am I getting a bit political here? 'bout the infrastructure stuff?)
We're stuck in traffic. On Thanksgiving Eve (upcoming Wednesday), it's said that more people die of boredom whilst sitting in traffic, than turkeys die on their way to the Thanksgiving Day table. Can you believe that? It's TRUE! (If you believe in fake news.)
Okay, I digress. Let's get back to the point of this post. Thanksgiving. And what to do whilst you're driving: Well, if you're driving, please put your "device" down, and drive. [And by DEVICE, I mean: DEVICE.] If you're a passenger, please download my timeless THANKSGIVING STORY, "MUSCLE HOLIDAY." You'll be jerking off (in the back seat) in no time. Once you get to Gramma's house, you'll be all spent, and won't be able to enjoy Cousin Mark (or whomever), in all his heretofore undiscovered muscularity. But then, Cousin Mark is imaginary. My story is prolly the best you'll be able to do.
[NOTE: THIS STORY WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED, LIKE, BACK IN 2013 OR SOMETHING. YOU MIGHT HAVE ALREADY JERKED OFF TO IT.]