Thanksgiving? Yeah. Thanks For Nothing.

Tabernuts.

I hope the holiday went well for all of you. Well, that's a lie, actually. I sort of hope it was as horseshit for you as it was for me. I know that's not a nice thing to say to the 2-3 of you people that actually check in on old Bill, but right now that's how it goes.

I don't know why I dislike what's left of my family, I really don't. Maybe it's because I'm sensible and honest and every one else in the tree is just so goddamn uppity and fakey. I've tried time and time again to try and be the better man. All it leaves me with is the feeling I've just eaten a shit sandwich and I'm being asked if I want seconds.

So, if you haven't surmised, I ended up at my son's house for a Thanksgiving dinner.

Here's the thing, though. I planned on trying to get out of it. I told him that the bar was open and I was scheduled to tend bar for all of the other low-life losers who didn't have a place to stick some turkey into their gobs. But, my son bested me. He called the bar directly and found out we were closed for the holidays.

Son of a bitch. He is, you know. My son. My ex-wife? His mother? She was a Grade A bitch. One of the worst broads ever.

Anyway, I got caught, and next thing you know I'm on a goddamned Greyhound to their place in Boston. Not only do I have to listen to some old woman retching in the on board toilet in the back, but I got some slovenly fat fuck in the seat next to me. Christ Jesus. His rolls (and I'm not talking about the ones on the dinner table) were literally spilling out over the hand rails and onto me.

Not what I needed.

When I got there, it was just the cold shoulder all around. Even my dumb grandkid acted like he'd rather I went into his room and take a dump in his toybox.

The trend, in the years I actually showed up for Thanksgiving dinner, has been that we'd sit around, shoot the shit and then settle down to eat. Nope. This time, I walked in. My jacket was unceremoniously tossed into a closet and I was seated at the dinner table.

My son tried to engage me in conversation while his rotten wife and kid did their best to stare down their mashed potatoes. I just nodded in the right spots and did my best to be civil. I mean, Christ. They wanted ME there. I did everything I could (short of murder) to get out of going.

At one point my daughter-in-law looked up and said: 'You really don't want anything to do with us, do you Bill?'

I was busy trying to see what in the fuck that shiny thing was in my stuffing, so I didn't hear her so well. I looked up and said: 'What's that?'

To that, she dropped her fork and threw her napkin onto her unfinished plate. She stood up and pointed her finger at me. At me! Nobody points their finger at me.

I was in the Korean War for crissakes.

'Don't play the confused vet routine with me, Bill. You heard me loud and clear! You don't want anything to do with our family, do you?'

'Not when you go and holler at me, I sure don't.'

Again, I looked down at the stuffing. I think there was something foreign in that stuff. What was it? Poision? Some sort of insect? Judging by past meals at my son's house, I wouldn't put it past either of them.

My son, ever the hero, kept his stupid mouth shut. My grandson adjusted his chair or farted. Not sure which.

I thought about all of the crappy things that my son and I have done to each other in the past and I kept my mouth shut. I thought about how my long-ass trip in that horrible bus couldn't have been any worse. I thought about why I even bothered to make amends for getting caught in a lie. I thought about how I'd like to be anywhere but at my son's house right then.

'I have to go to the can,' I think I mumbled.

I excused myself and got up from the table while my shitty daughter-in-law kept screeching about something. Once in the toilet, I stood there looking at my miserable face in the mirror. I looked at the fucking handtowels with a turkey wearing a pilgrim hat embroidered on them. I looked at the window and thought how great it would be to jump through it.

Well, thinking is one thing. Doing is another.

Being as stealthy as I could, I pulled the cord for the blinds and exposed the window behind the shitter. I undid the latch, threw the window open and kicked the screen with everything I had. The frame bent and after another kick, the son of a bitch was out in the yard. Knowing I'd never be able to throw myself out the window like that prick Steven Segal does in movies, I stepped on the toilet (cracking the lid) and climbed out without doing too much damage to myself.

I brushed my hands as I stood on the screen and started walking to their backyard. I supposed I'd have to call a taxi or some shit to get back home.

My only regret? I left my jacket there. Thankfully, my goddamn wallet and keys were in my pocket.

Fuck Thanksgiving, especially when you've got nothing to be thankful for.