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Thursday, November 24, 2016

Greetings Laff Lovers,

Historically, during the Thanksgiving holiday my wife has carted the kids off to visit her family on the Bayou. Occasionally her family would come up and stay with us if the swamp ran dry. And when they visited I tried to offend them by sitting around in my underwear, but apparently that's normal for them. So I started painting a brown streak down the back and that helped to curtail their visits.

Earlier this week I was thrown a curve ball. My wife said the plan had changed and they are coming up to our house.

"Shit, Honey!" I said. "I have plans. Lewis found a solid lead that proves aliens live amongst us and we're going to investigate."

"TZ, please don't say that out loud. I promised the neighbors you wouldn't talk about it anymore. Their kids are petrified."

"Well, it's true, and you know what? I'm having Lewis over to discuss it if your family is coming."

"Look, just be here for Thanksgiving dinner, then you can go pretend you're Carl Kolchak with Lewis as long as you don't come home with an STD. Or an actual alien. OK?"

Bam! Lewis' stupid alien shit finally paid off!

"Deal," I said and we kissed on it. "This is really works for me because I don't remember where I put my brown-stained underwear."

"Your brother took them to get rid of his in-laws."



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"I celebrated Thanksgiving in an old-fashioned way. I invited everyone in my neighborhood to my house, we had an enormous feast, and then I killed them and took their land." -Jon Stewart

After Daylight Savings Time ended I stopped in to visit my dyslexic friend.

He was busy covering his penis with black shoe polish.

I said to him, "You idiot! You're supposed to turn your clock back!

"According to a new report, the night before Thanksgiving is the best night of the year for 'casual hookups.' While Thanksgiving day is the worst. 'Bryan! You remember your cousin, Beth, right?!'" -Seth Meyers

Little Johnny answered the doorbell to find a salesman on the stoop. "Is your mother home, sonny?" the salesman asked.

"No," Jonny answered, "She's down at the whorehouse."

Shocked, the salesman asked Johnny if his mother was a prostitute.

"Yeah, but she's not a regular," Johnny said. "She's a sub. She only works Wednesdays and Fridays during the rush."

The salesman muttered, "Well, I'll be a son-of-a-bitch."

The little boy snorted, "I'm one too, but I don't go around knocking on doors bragging to folks."

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