The truth is that I’m not sure whether my family is more dysfunctional now than it was earlier in my life.
The last 3-4 years of my life have been brutal with regard to deaths. In that short time, we lost my uncle Sam, both grandfathers, my paternal grandmother, a brother, and a cousin. The Auchmoody Funeral home in Fishkill made a killing – except for my brother Frankie who’s degenerate wife stiffed them for the bill after an otherwise nice service. That’s where I got the idea for “Pay-Per-Viewing” where those who come to pay their respects swipe the plastic to pop open the box and say a prayer… alas I digress.
Rewind to 9 years ago. Everyone is still alive. We’re all around the dinner table on Thanksgiving day. The mood is merry, food is good, the usual crowd. Let me name them one by one.
Michelle – the 75lb chain smoking lesbian that rented the apartment upstairs over their house. A strange corrections officer that said she didn’t have pets but proceeded to move in with a 200lb rottweiler. It gets better. She used to chase it with toilet paper wearing a single latex glove and wipe it’s balloon knot after it would squeeze out a few links on our lawn.
Aunt Bean – a family fixture, pretty chill all around, can be a little feisty at times but more or less ok.
Uncle Sam – A woefully incontinent 70 something year old man who had dealt with mental health issues his entire life. The guy used to eat his morning pills in a bowl with milk and a spoon like Crazy Eddie’s Froot Loops with a free ICP toy inside. You could never quite tell if he had just shit himself or ripped a jellyfart. Sammy would scream everything and had no inner monologue so he’d shoutmumble weird shit all the time.
Brother Gene – the comedian. Picky eater. Helped himself to the usual mashed potato igloo and did shots of gravy. His only contribution to this story is that he once ejaculated into a thawing turkey in the sink and cut his penis on the bones inside.
Brother Frank – the man that did enough drugs to make Rick James look like a model citizen. So much so that at this very dinner he passed out on a plate of scalding hot baked beans. Chime in Michelle the lesbian “Hey Mr. T, I think there’s something wrong with your boy there – he’s taking a dirtnap in his beans”. Yes – that really happened.
Grandpa Frank – Stone deaf but ever lovable and always my favorite. I theorize that Uncle Sam screamed so much because he had gotten used to talking to Gramps.
Grandpa Penny – Evil in it’s purest form…We’re talking the brown acid at Woodstock evil. Most famous for putting too much salt on everything, spraying Timmy with the hose while he was chained outside, and terrorizing Timmy’s friends. She also liked to fry onions a lot and then throw them away for no apparent reason.
Brother Mark the Pot Farmer – constantly wearing the fanny pack and with a rolled up issue of High Times in his hand at all time. Always paranoid about his plants being discovered even after selling his land in Vermont where his alleged underground operation ran. Always came with his wife Lee in tow. She’s pretty sweet if for no other reason than that she puts up with him.
My Mom – most like the Grandma Sinclaire from the popular 80s TV show “Dinosaurs”. The one in the same that would sneak up behind my brother Gene whilst he was showing his genitals to my friends only to catch him in the act and smack him on the head! “Hey Noel – Look at my balls!” SMACK! Owch! Yea…You probably wanted to forget about that.
My Dad – the bible thumping picks his teeth with the car keys man with both of the aforementioned items in his hands…dentures. Took to the bad habit of misplacing dentures on serving plates and soup tureens…Mmmm…corn chowder..WTF!
Sarah the Jew – the sweet old blind lady that would come over bearing gifts of hard muffins and caustic Italian food…caustic because Comet Cleanser looks just like fucking Parmesan cheese when you have narrow angle glaucoma, cataracts, and can’t quite see over the counter top. Sarah’s muffins became the butt of every joke about the holidays for years to come.
It’s literally the kind of crowd you expect to have the lights go out and find someone dead then spending the rest of the evening watching the rest of them get picked off in various amusing ways. Baked bean asphyxiation. Poisoning by cleaning products. Choking on someone else’s dentures in the food. Geriatric heart attack from uncle Sammy’s random screamings. Sliced jugular from Dad’s flailing arms while using the electric turkey carver. Natural gas explosion from Gramps not hearing that he left the stove on unlit. Grammy’s electrocution from washing the toaster while it was plugged in…it’s all possible with these people.
I suppose all things being equal, I actually turned out pretty normal. This year I’m bringing my live-in fucktoy and bondage dyke wife with me along with the kids just to preserve the time honored tradition of not being excessively conventional. Remember kids! One <3!