In the basement of a modest ranch house in the far reaches of Chicago suburbia a raging party ensues. The taint punch flows out of the nipples of a jello statue of Nancy Faust as Thanksgiving dinner is prepared by Chef Julius and his sous-chef and nutritionist, a shoeless man from SC. A radio guy carves the turduckham as the rest of party goers stuff napkins in the necks and bang their silver ware on the long wooden table, demanding satisfaction. A fire is lit but there is no hearth, a haze of sweet smoke wafts in the lack of circulation creating semi-transparent ribbons through the dim lighting.
In a corner lit solely by an red-hued poker light play the 'SSS Four', comprised of ChiSoxRox on slap bass, Nordhagen on saxophone, Hazymania on the skins and Chiburb crooning Tom Waits covers. They all bob their heads in time providing a musical accompaniment to the insanity.
"We can't eat without Margalus, he's the boss," demands a sunburnt OPOS.
"Who's the boss?" asks trooper.
"For fuck sake, fucking kids and their television nostalgia. I was doing too much coke in the 80's to watch anything with that slimy Italian in it."
"In the 80's? A regular reverse Ron Washington you are, I suppose you haven't touched the stuff since then."
"A terrible drug." the OPOS shit mutters excitedly reaching for his
"When I was a kid I thought the Tony awards were named after Tony Danza, he was such a fruit, I figured he could be a Broadway dancer."
"You know 'fruit' is derogatory."
After pondering for a moment whether this was politically correct, the intelligent young gay man decided it was okay, as long as the OPOS was referring to cucumbers.
The doorbell rings and a man in a wool sweater and wool slacks walks down the stairs, "Rhubarb another one of your nerdy internet friends is here, he says he is from the dredges of Britain!" mumbles Rhubarb's wife disappointingly, as a stock maven tries to put something in her wine.
"Hey mates! I come bearing pickled fig and fried pig hoove!"
"Hoodie!" exclaims the crew.
"Rhubarb someone just parachuted into your backyard in a superhero costume."
Rhubarb gazes with moist and bloodshot eyes into a distance beyond the wall, not hearing anything.
"You know that your local ordinances wouldn't exactly allow such a thing. You might want to check with your county clerk on that," quipped a man with a briefcase.
"It's duffman!" exclaimed the boy fresh off the bus from Marquette.
"No its not! It's the boss!" the sunburnt OPOS slathered as he ran out the basement door tackling the man in the softly falling snow of the nuclear winter. Immediately commencing the horsing around, raping his thigh…forcing Bit-O-Honey into his mouth.
"Margalus is here. Will you guys eat already so we can get this banjax of a shindig to its proper level? That rummy passed out in the corner is starting to dishearten me and is a cunt hair from winding up on my list. Hamms me"
"You're not eating?"
"I ate last month," said the curmudgeon in an obscure European soccer jersey.
"Should we call an ambulance for RWshow?" asked boejouma not being serious what-so-ever "Also GiT just texted me, he lost a battle with sobriety behind the wheel."
"Negative, he'll get his second wind, someone give him his heart meds," Rhubarb mutters disconnectedly as obnoxiousamerican pours pills into his mouth from an unmarked prescription pill jar. Most make it in his mouth, some dribble down his messy chin.
At the far end of the table, U-God, tries to feed the sunburnt OPOS' niece another overflowing serving of taint punch. Her pallor is already green.
"She's 13, asshole!" smarts a welsh ginger as he, Jack and colin salud Mountain Dew and Southern Comfort, sealing their ginger triumvirate pact and world domination plan, spilling drink on the leashed sheep, laying exhausted on the floor, bahhing as if in an oversexed stupor.
"Check your facts, craig! She's 14! Where is Jack and why is not drinking with me at this moment?"
"I love Mountain Dew and Southern comfort!" exclaims Jack in a Mark Grace jersey, who is oddly accepted as the novel bi-soxual member of the group.
"Calm down, CUB FAN!"
Near a trap door in the floor, a man with buggery-grips adorning his somber face communicates in quick whispers with a southsideexpat and a man chugging a bottle of Makers known as e-gus. The three of them look over their shoulders as if they are being watched by an invisible force. "Rhubarb!" one of them calls.
"The time is nigh." says buggery-grips.
"Indeed." says the expat.
"Do it up." says Rhubarb.
The expat quiets the 'SSS Four' and yells, "Shoosh! (like in Encino Man) We have a guest everyone…I present to you bobpuller in the freckled flesh! We took him out of his home following a drunken roadtrip to Duluth"
"Booooooooooooooooooooooo!" shouts Dr. Emilio Lizardo
Buggerygrips, raises the trap door and in a sump hole is a dirty mongoloid in tattered cloth, looking like a sea urchin or more properly a regular Uriah Heep. As the SSS gathers around the hole they all point and laugh and throw the endangered species uneaten snacks from their appetizer plates. bobpuller snatches these morsels and greedily compounds them into his mouth as if he hadn't eaten in days.
"Have you people learned nothing from the whole Adam Dunn ordeal!?! Booing is not effective but taunting is…fuck you you evil twain scum" as e-gus empties his bladder upon the grief-stricken and displaced twain.
From the laundry room a huge pierzynski fan dressed in a leather dominatrix suit emerges snapping a whip.
"Where is that bobpuller? I have a few words for him, its time for a DP!"
As the show of hatred turns from funny to sick-and-twisted the group loses interest and leaves bobpuller to his shattered hopes and dreams. The last appetizer is served by thatshortkid and Lockportsox. As everyone embarks on a mindbending spacecake-ricekrispie treat trip the shoeless man from the south yells "C'mon and get it you no good drunks! Don't eat too much, starch its bad for you!" as he takes a whisp off a secret flask hidden in his wife beater.
Awakened from his drunken rum stupor by the delectable and enchanting odor of turduckham, a still wasted RWShow ambles to his middle seat at the last supper table and somehow mutters, "Brohans, Lessss tull tha duvil whut weere thankful for!" as his disciple Siamese-twin disciple of boejouma and joewho, drapes a christ robe over his shoulders, then proceeds to poison his sweet potatoes.
"Fewer," spurts the list making curmudgeon.
The 'SSS four' having been given their dinner early, begins their whimsical stylings once again.
"I am thankful that Margalus took this freak show off my hands," says the Cheat under his breath. "Gimme some more of that sweet taint punch nectar."
"I for one thank the White Sox for finally having an MVP quality centerfielder playing lead-off in our lineup." Says the chef's good friend t-dogg. "and further more I thank thatshortkid for lacing these ricekrispietreats with medicinal grade pot, I haven't been high since high school." As he raises his glass of high grade scotch.
"I am thankful that you jabronies finally realize who brings the ratings, long live Kenwo and nice to meet me!" blurts a man in an Undertaker t-shirt and stone-washed jeans, raising his mug of rumplemintz and rootbeer to the sky.
"What is your take on venchie and what he brings to the table, Ken of Wo?" asked a man in a Dayan Viciedo T-Shirt
"If you call him venchie one more time I will feed you your testicles jamoche."
"Its vench, not venchie" Rhubarb absently and clumsily mutters, putting his arm around greenlight. "Lets drink moar."
"I am thankful that today larry has not yet exposed my logical flaws, from which I have yet to backpedal from in a most obtuse manner. Long live SSS and praise St. Jerry!" says Knoxfire.
"I am thankful that none of you have pissed me off enough to leave yet, I have a lot of work to doooooooo." snaps the man with briefcase
"I am thankful that you could all see the squalor in which I live, SSS Cribs!" says a boy from a dock as he finishes his 25th PBR.
"I am thankful I can burn one thousand dollar bills every time I light a cigar." Says a marketmaker as lastof12 tries to put out the fire.
"I am thankful that Rhubarb finally met me in person and does not consider me the same person as boejouma. Both boejouma and I really should have made a better effort to make previous methups." Says joewho
On a speakerphone conference call from Basel, Switzerland a man gives thanks for being able to participate in a Thanksgiving party with his savage American internet friends and is also thankful he will be back in the states and attending future methups.
"I am thankful for all the ass I've blasted in 2011!" says 2HA
"I am thankful that I can move on to my next divorce, as I am engaged to a 25 year old drink of water with fake tits that I paid for." Says the sunburnt OPOS.
"Can I go next, can I go next?!?" asks ScottyPodsV2.0 "I am thankful that Scott Podsednik is a free agent and the White Sox have a need for top fo the order speed…"
"I've got some top of the order speed if you want some," answers Dr. Emilio Lizardo with his blackmarket prescription pad already wielded like a Star Trek tazer.
"I am thankful for Derrick Rose and the money he brings in for the White Sox" says Ozzie Montana.
"I am thankful for gainful employment so I can put into motion my inverse fund plan to fund world domination, I finally have some capital to back myself," says colin
Mechanical Turk goes into a poetic and largely complex diatribe into what he is thankful for which left not a dry eye in the basement despite the fact that everyone took from the speech something entirely different.
"I am thankful that I am able to be a part of such a perfectly cromulant internet community. You all have made my shift from drunken stooge into family man, fatherhood that much more cathartic to my wandering soul" offered Rhubarb.
"You sentimental puss! You just crossed over into OPOSdom with that speech. As a representative of OPOS everywhere, I welcome you with open arms, you lunatic. I will teach you the ways of the ancient order," joked Chiburb.
"All this thankfulness is great and all but I suggest a hymn before we eat," smacks The Actual El Guapo. Everyone yells at the top of their lungs, "Him, Him, fuck him! All hail Donny who art in heaven! FOG!" and down their drinks.
"Oh boy, oh boy! Pass the ketchup!" asks Kenwo.
The basement door opens again and a middle-aged man in a Hawaiian shirt skips down the steps with a joint in his mouth and a huge smile on his face. The smile remains even having gone far, far out of his way to contribute to the festivities…"Check out this sausage fest! You didn't think I'd make it did you? I told you I was driving to the west coast to pick up our MIA guest of honor…"
Moroots hops from his seat having been quietly getting inebriated, snatches the joint out of Oahu's mouth and saunters over to the bobpuller hole and as he pissing into it he musters something about Old Glory being the only flag he answers to.
Following him down the stairs is a port slut in a Q! jersey and some hip fucking shoes. "I'd tell all my friends but they'd never believe ,they'd think that I'd finally lost it completely, I'd show them the stars, and the meaning of life, they'd shut me away, but I'd be all right, all right.."
The party went on to the break of dawn and also through Black Friday and all the while the cops waited outside for the expat to emerge. Over the suburban home hovered a flyingspaghettimonster watching out for everyone in the impending winter of their discontent, giving them good vibes and warm hearts until the advent of Spring Training.