Far be it for me to complain, but I’m going to complain. Whatever happened to Thanksgiving tradition? There was a time when we remembered the reason for the season — Columbus discovering the Pilgrims. And it was more than an excuse to buy LED televisions the size of garage doors.

We didn’t say, “Happy Holidays,” we said, “Happy Thanksgiving,” and no one was offended. Then, after devouring our feast, we’d wander outside to inhale the crisp autumn air pungent with smoke wafting from the smoldering garage down the street. In the years no one’s garage burned down, we’d just smoke. Right by the door, not 20 feet away. Unfiltered Camels.

According to FEMA, there are 2,400 turkey-based garage fires annually. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Texas leads the nation in turkey fires. But my issue is not with imbeciles or pyromaniacs, or in the case of Texans, both. Waddya expect from the people who just re-elected Lyin’ Ted Cruz The Zodiac Killer?

But before we address the real crisis at hand, I am pleased to report that the Bender Family refrained from discussing politics at the table this year. Why would you? We always defer to the person holding the carving knife, anyway. “What’s that you say, Grandma? Hillary can suck it? Alrighty, then. Pass the biscuits, please.” In the good old days, our family was united — we all openly prayed for Nixon just before we drew straws for the gizzard.

This year, there was still some minor passive-aggressive behavior at the table. For instance, everyone kept passing me the romaine with the same knowing looks that I imagine folks had when they passed the cake to Rasputin. But overall, the weirdest it got this year was when my brother, a staunch conservative, pardoned the mashed potatoes but not the gravy. Both were lumpy. I still don’t know if that was racist, but I’m going to post it on Facebook to find out.

While we successfully navigated the minefield of politics, social issues and lumpy gravy, I have still grave concerns about what is happening to this once-proud national tradition. Specifically, I’m talking about the Turducken. First off, any main course that starts with the word “turd” should set off more alarm bells than if your garage was burning. Who came up with this sick idea, you ask?

(The answer after a word from our sponsors.)

And what possessed someone to stuff a chicken inside a duck and the duck inside a turkey? Did someone mix beer and cough syrup? I’m surprised no one has thought to shove a Cornish Game Hen up the chicken’s butt. You may as well cram a partridge, a hummingbird and a pear tree in there while you’re at it. You freaks.

This is the culinary equivalent of Russian Nesting Dolls. Somebody get Mueller on this. Surprisingly, though, it’s an English invention. It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it? Only their version is the Gooseducken. It should also go without saying that one should be wary of any food that starts with the word “goo,” as well. The fact that we are taking cooking tips from the English should tell you just how lost we are as a nation. Say what you will, but Hondurans never trafficked anything across the border as sinister as Turduckens, lutefisk or gay cakes.

You realize it won’t stop here, don’t you? Someone always has to do it bigger and better. Even as we speak, I guarantee you someone is plotting to stuff a billy goat inside a cow. (If this happens, I’ll want royalties.) Then, someday, somewhere, someone is going to say at the table, “More Cowbill, please.” We can’t possibly make America great again fast enough.

© Tony Bender, 2018