Gawker's having a contest for the worst thanksgiving horror stories. 1st place wins either $50 or a bottle of Wild Turkey!
I copied & pasted several but there's loads more at the link. Some are hilarious, some are downright sad. You guys should submit some, tell us if you win!
Thanksgiving 1994 in the well to do northern suburbs of Chicago. My oldest sister has screwed up her second marriage due to drinking, and now she's shacked up with a guy who's even boozier than her. She insists we come to her apartment this year and she will make dinner and we will meet her boyfriend's adult children.
We show up about an hour before dinner is supposed to be served, and sister and boyfriend are schnockered, the place is a wreck and no food has been prepared. We put the turkey in the oven, do all the mise en place, clean the joint and hope that the opposing family is normal. Well, we got the daily double with that wish, because the girl was close to mute and the boy was a match-twiddling psychopath. Many drinks later, there's slurring, verbal sparring, decades old grudges resurrected, and the occasional knick knack or lit candle being thrown about. Words can't describe the pandemonium and emotional maelstrom contained in this small one-bedroom place. Not to mention the cloud of cigarette smoke that thankfully obscures boyfriend and his spawn. That's when oldest sister's BOSS shows up at the door. He's hammered beyond recognition, glassy-eyed and barely standing. He drove from his house in another suburb... blotto and completely incoherent. Words fail me.
We get dinner on the table and I have to say I've seen funeral services that had more joie de vivre. It's either biting remarks, drunken slurs, or silence. My sister, my mother and I signal each other that we are OUTTA THERE the first possible moment. No one was interested in dessert, so a quick oh gosh gotta go home and feed the cats was offered, and we vamoosed as quickly as our feets would take us.An Orange County Thanksgiving. My father, my brother and I were at the Orange Hill Restaurant for Thanksgiving 2008. My mother was unable to attend as she had a bipolar breakdown earlier that day, called us all traitors and fuckheads and refused to come with us. During dinner the waiter came over to me and told me that the women at the table across from us wanted to buy me a drink.
I told him to thank them for the ego boost but I denied the drink as I was gay and not of age. After dinner we went out to the terrace and sat near one of the fire pits. There we were, a family of men smoking cigars and cigarettes. The women from the table came up to our area and asked to join us. My dad being the gentleman he is welcomed them and there sat the harpy queens of Northern Orange County.
The mother, Laura, introduced herself by pointing at me and saying, "Briana, is this the cute one with the faggy shoes? " (I was wearing maroon converse, so admittedly slightly faggy) Briana, rotund and glass eyed, giggled nervously and said yes. Her other daughter Jessica, slim and cool, asked me, "So you are gay right?" I nodded. Laura asked my father, "So how do you feel about having a gay son who smokes?" My dad shrugged his shoulders and smiled. Jessica asked me if I had ever had ever, "fucked a chick" and I said no. Briana lit up upon hearing this and suggested that she could be my first. I laughed nervously and looked to the city lights. My brother raised his hand and said, "I’m straight."
The blonde be-weaved matriarch rolled her eyes and took out a bottle of Andre from her purse. "Cheers" she gurgled as she popped it open. She passed the bottle around after taking a swig. "Briana, give the straight one a feel of your Christmas present." Briana then looked at her chest, as did my brother. She gave him the go ahead and he felt. "Very real." I then looked at my dad with pleading eyes and he texted me saying, "Let’s get the hell out of here. " My brother however was not ready to go with the prospect of a disgusting foursome in front of his eyes. So for another ten minutes I was interrogated about being gay and whether or not I had a boyfriend when Mother Horrible told her daughters to stop pestering me and hit the skinny one on the shoulder. The retaliation had to be seen to be believed.
Jessica reached over and pulled a chunk of her Mother’s blonde weave out and threw it in the fire pit. The mother screamed, "You bitch, that cost hundreds of dollars!" Everyone giggled, drunk and stupid. The smell of burning hair filled the air and my dad finally leaned over to me and said, "Time to go." We left my brother with the harlots of Orange Hill and three hours later I received a text from my brother saying, "Oh. My. God."i was 9, dressed in my pilgim's outfit circa 1970-something, my mom is cooking turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravey, sauteed mushrooms, crusites, etc..., so we are FREE, FREE, FREE. my brother and i start making paper airplanes and throwing them to one another. then we figure it will be much better if we light the paper airplanes on fire. it is.
unfortunately, one of the planes hits our California ranch head on and burns the house down to the ground.
no turkey dinner that year.
my dad, being a fire captain, worked that Thanksgiving.
he never lived that one down.*I loved that last one, it was so kick-ass!A burned Turducken. Burned roasted vegies. Father having spent the day drinking vodka and blueberry juice--"it's good for the memory," meaning the blueberries--and screaming at everyone for this and that, starts ranting at the table. I spent the day shivering from the flu, thus why dinner was burned, because, though I was sicker than sick, I was in charge of dinner, as my brother and husband were busy building a new fence for father to hide his Sanford & Son-like yard that the town had fined him several hundred dollars for, which I was paying, since I pay for everything, including airfare for everyone to get them to this miserable feast. Father starts ranting about his "tar woman" housekeeper, and Mexicans, and praising Bill O'Reilly--you know, one of those Cheney-loving old Nixonites--and yelling at the grandchildren for who knows what and ripping apart my brother for his useless ways, then gets up, and goes to the bathroom and doesn't ever come back to the table. We then hear his TV blaring Fox News in his bedroom. Fine. I guess we can eat our cold burned dinner by ourselves. Except that I'm so sick I can't. I'm keeling over. I can't quit shaking. I think I'm dying. Really really dying. I ask to be taken to the hospital--something I have never done before, except when I broke my arm as a kid. My father offers, but then I know that will indeed kill me, so I ask for directions and my husband drives. Except he gets lost, though it's a mile away, and we drive for half an hour and I'm crying and shivering uncontrollably and he leaves me in a wheel chair at the entrance while he parks miles away and some stranger just walks by me and makes some snorting sound, and finally I find someone to wheel me in as I'm puking burned Turducken and crying and find out that all my organs are shutting down and I'm rushed into emergency and given potassium that won't melt under my tongue because I'm so dehydrated and finally after handing over the credit card for who knows how much damage am given three bags of IV and send home at 4 a.m. At 8 I wake up to my father hollering in the phone to his best friend that I'm spoiled and self-centered and my husband is spineless and my daughter and niece are wild horrible creatures. Though still doubled over from the drama the night before, I throw everything and everyone in the car and beat it out of there, as he tells me that I abandoned him 20 years ago when my mother left him, though I talked my husband into buying the house, and I pay the bills and you know, everything, and I said, You want to see abandoned??? and haven't spoken to him since.
Oh wait. That was Christmas.
Give Us Your Best Thanksgiving Horror Stories - Thanksgiving - GawkerIt was 1993. I was 9. My paternal grandpa got challenged by my maternal grandma to see who could drink who under the table.
Now, Grandma is a tough old broad. Just to give you a little background, the T-giving before she got ripped on old fashioned's and joined all the men in the family for a post-dinner cigar.
She put the lit end in her mouth and it didn't even faze her.
You just don't accept a drinking challenge from this woman unless you are A. some kind of wizard B. a former Marine Drill Sargent who's been "in the shit" or C. you genuinely enjoy the E.R around the holidays.
Gramps, being option B, takes Granny up on her Wild Turkey chase.
Shit starts getting sloppy real fast.
Granny starts in on how they have these new fangled perfumes with pheremones in 'em to attract a man to have sex with, something that she, as a divorcee, could appreciate.
Gramps decides to let everyone know he thought my father was gay until he married my mother.
They are neck and neck by the time my mother slams down the food on the table. Hoping that the stuffing will uh, absorb some of the inappropriate convos, we all sit down to eat.
My oak tree of a grandpa misses his chair entirely and manages to clutch onto the tablecloth, bringing it down to the ground along with all the food my mother slaved over.
The turkey was the only thing heavy enough to stand its ground.
I wish I was making this up