It’s been a restful wait since the great purge that began on the seventh day out. Well rested, and most likely still overworked it is time to get cracking again. Being just another fucking Saturday called in to work let us ride this wave of self tragedy like Kerry Mullis on his favorite long board. Never mind we are happy to not be mending the lawn, whitewashing the picket fence, shampooing Fido, attending yet another mindless youth soccer match or assigned Glee club taxis duty. Shifting into mindless drone on the clock is that much easier and damn right it will be come next Thursday when if all goes right we will be sucking up the ironic glory of straddling the high and mighty fence where the waves of guilt and pleasure collide. The guilt is from others, “oh no poor me had to work today, and everyone misses me, that is the best gift any swell guy like me could give a co-worker on Thanksgiving.” The pleasure, “Thank the unseen overlord of the universe for saving me from that diabolic spectacle of giving thanks and joy centered around overindulgence and family feud!”
Don’t just come out and ask, one most position himself. This is like playing tic-tac toe with the devil: mostly ties, but eventually there will be a winner. Try a one two punch like this for example, “Jee boss, will the company be up and running on Thanksgiving. We are having the family at my house this year, but I know everyone else has obligations too. If you need someone in the office I’ll take one for the team this year.” Funnel the supposed rage on the way home from work. If this is not easy try stopping off at some dump watering hole near the house set a flutter with college football fans, slug down two shots of tequila, and for everyone’s benefit don’t overdo it. It is so good when it hit your lips though so go ahead and take two more like a man. By the time you get home all slant eyed and stumbling don’t dare lie! Stick this one out. You DID stop off after work for a drink. Because, “I’m so upset honey. I just wanted a nice Thanksgiving with the family, but that fucking soul sucking whore of a boss is making Jhonny and I come in and run the whole place those penny pinching bastards can’t give a hard working man like me a single day off.” If everything has gone right it is most likely within a short time you will be sitting in the recliner munching a handmade Dagwood, sipping craft beer, enjoying those afore mentioned college football games all the time no one will ever know the better and you can slip away into a deep and well deserved nap. Mustering up such emotion on que is very taxing. Wasting it all under fake context next Thursday under the vail of joy and happiness would just be criminal.
Don’t neglect the shrine. Keep it in a shoebox under the bed, or let it take up the whole nightstand, who cares. It is yours so be proud of it. It is my opinion that every good shrine has three tiers: Level one is made up of the usual and acceptable culprits. You will likely know them by a single name, Mario, Emerill, Rachel, Martha, Julia, Bobby, Guy, Tony or Gordan. This is the easiest tier to build as these icons image has been seared into our weak and feable minds over many years and some of us would not know so much as how to order take out without their guidance. While this top tier is heavily populated. It can also feel somewhat hollow and emotionally detached as that is why we create the second tier of our shrine. The second tier subjects are more personal. Characters we feel more comfortable liking in light of the fact that bitch from work might not feel so inclined to enshrine them. Level two of the shrine is one that you are willing to share, but only with someone who has also captured the essence of all your mutual first tier suspects. Most level two subjects are culled from similar places; The Cooking Network, PBS, late night re-runs, or one off appearances that left a lasting impression. The final tier is very special to most shrine constructers as this is where they keep what would be considered the, ‘ace in the hole’ or the secret culinarian that you hope with all your heart never ascends to the top because they are yours, and yours alone like when you were the first kid to score some porn and actually thought any of the girls in Big Busty Black Butts Volume 63 might be anywhere in your future. Oh those silly dreams. After that analogy the now common phrase ‘food porn’ just seems a bit sick, but yes it is, and tier three is your own personal food porn collection. It’s yours, go ahead and cherish it. Build it but keep it hidden just like that copy of Volume 63.