GOBBLE.

Here's to a relatively "festive" Thanksgiving on all ends: plenty of turkey, Kelley's mushroom gravy (which Kelley oh-so-kindly refuses to eat, as she despises gravy), significantly more than a tiny bit of smoked fish, Smith family Irish potato dressing, and best of all, sleeping in random places at random instants throughout the day.
Thank you, chemically-exhausting bird.
And as the week lurches forward like an over-fed in-law, so too comes the busiest day in shopping history, a day when I browse the mall, watching bumbling idiots (parents) tripping over their beloved, whiny, smelly infants, trying desperately to appease them without letting them know exactly what is being bought in their honour. Gone are the days when Tickle-Me-Elmo and Furbies were the rage: what new, destructive, and ever-encompassing fad item will tomorrow bring?
My guess- An eerie combination of Barbie and heroin, in that order.
Alright. The hour approaches at which time I must sleep legitimately and for over five minutes.
And remember:
Custard Creme Pie < Pumpkin Pie. Easily.