Ah, Thanksgiving. A day to think about all the blessings in your life. Family and friends gathering, eating too much food, drinking too much drink, enjoying each others' company, etc., etc., etc. Of course, let's try not to think about the origins of the holiday, or how Uncle Leon is a raging alcoholic, or how cooking the stuffing inside the turkey as opposed to in its own pan may cause possible bacterial infection. Let's just focus on the positives: mashed potatoes, champagne, and good times.
But somewhere in Manhattan, someone's Thanksgiving is not so happy. Somewhere a man sits in front of his computer, wondering to himself "Why? Why can't I find a woman who shares both my religious views and my enjoyment of hairy ladies?" He stares at his screen, takes a sip of his Mountain Thunder, and scratches his head. "Tell me, Beowulf," he says plaintively, addressing his prized pet iguana, "Tell me what to do!"
The iguana stares at him, as iguanas are wont to do. In the stare, the man seems to see an answer. "Of course! That same girl! The one I've written to over and over, sometimes using the same text, who has never given me any reason to believe that she is interested in meeting, ever! I'll write to her once more. But this time - this time, Beowulf, I will write an email of such eloquence, such insight, that she will be forced to respond in the affirmative."
And so he types:
So is your armpit hair rather long yet?
Simple. To the point. Rife with meaning. Let's all say a word of thanks that on Thursday, at 6:23pm, The Naturalizer decided to strike again.