The Black Sheep
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Vol. 3, Issue 13
The College Newspaper That's Actually About College
11/21/13 - 12/5/13
Black Fridapocalypse BY: UTK staff You glance over at your now empty plate and the half-consumed turkey on the table. You’re stuffed, but now it’s time for an amazing dessert and some eggnog to wash it all down. And then, your sister gives you a horrified look as she stands holding the fridge door open. “We’re out of eggnog,” she says hesitantly. “That’s okay,” you shrug your shoulders. “I’ll just go run to the store and get some.” She slams the fridge door and runs to your side, grasping your hand. “No. You can’t go out there.” She says dramatically and looks at the front door. “They’re already out there... they’re everywhere… the… Black Friday shoppers…” Panic sets in as you realize what tomorrow is. What if you run out of toilet paper at midnight? And God forbid you run out of beer. Stores like Wal-Mart already plan on holding events as early as 6 p.m. on Thanksgiving day. With doors opening for this pushing-and-shoving, trampling, deal-grabbing stampede of parents and grandparents earlier and earlier each year, nobody is safe. Not even for a quick McDonald’s hangover run. So what can you do to no get caught in the traffic storm on November 29th? Here are some tips to bring out your inner homebody and avoid the horrors of the Black Fridapocalypse: Stock up on food, drinks, beer, alcohol,
and everything in between: Don’t let Thanksgiving fool you. Yeah, sure, you’ll have a lot of leftovers. But you never know how long the Black Fridapocalypse could last this year... or how many relatives could be crashing at your place. Whatever you do, don’t go outside: They’ll be everywhere. Lock your doors, bring in your pets, and whatever you do, don’t answer the door. Especially if you hear the faint growl of someone saying, “deaaaaaals.” Rent a bunch of movies and/or video games: Who are we kidding, turn on Netflix, start streaming, and never look back. Seriously, don’t even try going to the theater. They’re in there too. We’re not sure why, but don’t chance it. Nothing is on sale at the theater, but there’s bound to be some spillover when Black Fridapocalypse zombies get tired of waiting in line, and the urge to spend money overtakes them. Don’t look at the newspapers inserts, or be lured in by those “awesome deals.”: It’s almost like a conspiracy, and we know newspapers are the culprit, causing all these people to line up at WalMart and Target in search of great deals. Like this Wal-Mart special, for instance: They have Grand Theft Auto V for $34... wait, only $34? Are you still reading?! It’s worth being pulled in by their $49 RCA Duel-Core… tablet... wow, only $49? Are you kidding? That’s amazing, isn’t it? You should go buy! Buy, buy, buy!
Last, but not least, shop online: Seriously, you can find the same deals online. Or better ones. Or maybe buy your loved ones something really unique, like a Walking Dead version of Monopoly from Thinkgeek.com or one of those crazy
horse masks from Creepyhorsemask. com. Because anything is a better present than becoming a zombie the day after Thanksgiving.
And who knows, maybe you’ll come across another tablet for $49...we mean, it’s possible, right? Right? Either way, be safe this holiday season... ...deaaaals.
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page 6
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The First Fratsgiving
Tips to Burning off Thanksgiving Dinner
Hamocrat’s War on Thanksgiving
Colony bros and indian hoes at Grandma’s does not go over well.
the feast is over and you’re left with 20 extra pounds. What do you do now?
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Making Ham on Thanksgiving is about as un-American as it gets.
>>
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The First
Fratsgiving By: black sheep staff Now, I don’t hate being at home. I like to visit the fam' every once in awhile for a short detox but then I’m back to the kick-ass campus for another retox. Thanksgiving break is just way too long and after what happened last year, I’m not so sure I’m welcome anymore… It was the day before Thanksgiving. My mind was already numb with the constant drone of the damn vacuum cleaner going back and forth in the upstairs hallway. I never had to deal with this shit back on campus. The halls of my frat were caked with food crumbs, old gum and just a splash of alcohol, but no one ever complained about it. Clearly my stay-athome mom had nothing better to do than suck up dust bunnies and bore the hell out of me. I peered over into the kitchen to see my brother John sitting at the table. John was a freshman and the biggest geed you’d ever meet. I had been trying to get him to pledge my frat for weeks in an attempt to pull him out of the bowels of Knoxville. I had decided that this was the week I was finally going to
convince him to become a man. “Whaddup, bro?” I slid into the seat next to him with a fresh can of Keystone, a coming home gift I bought for myself even though my dad had some tight bottles of Heineken in the fridge. “So we got that family party tomorrow, you stoked?” “Uh, I guess?” he replied raising his eyebrow over his stupid thick-framed Ray-Bans. “It’s just Thanksgiving at grandma’s.” “A party’s a party, dude! And you know what that means? All the free booze we want … so long as we sneak it in the bathroom. Am I right?” I asked, punching him in the shoulder. He stared at me for a few moments before rolling his eyes and walking away. “Whatever, dude, tomorrow’s going to be epic. You’ll see.” The next morning I woke up ready to start pregaming. I grabbed my bottle of Jäger and threw back some doubles while Skrillex’s “Bangarang” played through my bedroom stereo. After my sixth round, I stumbled into
my brother’s room with a half-tucked in polo and my trusty snapback. “Theme … theme party,” I slurred, “We’re doing ‘Colony Bros and Indian Hos,’ got it? Can I borrow your pilgrim belt?” Not amused and unfazed by my state of drunkenness, John helped me out to the car where my parents were waiting. When we arrived at my grandma’s, I could feel the alcohol leaving my system. I quickly whipped out my flask and chugged down the rest. I was ready to turn this family party up a notch. “Heeeeeyyyyooo!” I yelled as soon as my grandma answered the door. Startled and confused, my entire family stared at me as I fist bumped everyone in the room and gave a little ass squeeze to some of the younger babes in attendance. I began clearing off the dining room table to make room for a game of BP when my grandma dragged me aside. “Christopher, I think you should go into the
back room and lie down,” she muttered as sternly as an IFC officer. With a head nod up and a wink, I made my way to the “back room,” clearly the OK for me to smoke some hash and increase my appetite. After a quick blaze and a few shots of Listerine mouthwash, I made my way back into the main room where I unexpectedly had the urge to break the seal. Before I could even unzip my fly to take a corner piss, my brother rushed over to stop me. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he screamed at me. Before I could protest, I spotted her. Long legs, toned ass and tits like Kate Upton. “Who’s that slampiece?” I wondered aloud, “I’d like to take
her ass to bucktown.” Horrified, my brother harshly whispered, “Chris, that’s our 12-year-old cousin Claire! She’s in the sixth grade!” But my boozeinfested brain didn’t compute the message, and I slowly made my way over to her. As soon as I opened my mouth to speak, a rush of nausea hit me. At the exact moment my grandmother placed the roasted turkey on the table, I turned and blew chunks over the entire bird. Needless to say, there was really nothing to be thankful for that year when your turkey is covered in regurgitated Jäger. But my parents did decide that it was best for me to head back to campus early. And that, my friends, was the greatest blessing of them all.
The
Top
Ten
Worst Things to Bring Up at Thanksgiving Dinner By: H.R. Huffinstuff
Thanksgiving can be a time of joy, happiness, pain, anger, humiliation and downright torture. The one time of the year where you are forced to act like a gluttonous asshole while socializing with the family you’ve avoided making conversation with for a whole year. Here are a few points of conversation you definitely shouldn’t bring up at the family dinner: 10.) Dog Adoption: Everyone has the puppy fever these days, and you took part in the preciousness. Unfortunately, you surprised your roommate, who happens to be violently allergic to dogs. Asking your parents to adopt your two German Sheppard puppies would be an act of pure love and idiocy. 9.) Mountain People: School is for losers anyway. You haven’t passed a class since English 101 and there’s no point in continuing the disappointment. Tell your family it is in your best interest, as well as theirs, to pack up your things and hike into the mountains to live forever with your smelly hipster boyfriend. 8.) Arrested... again: They’re after you, you swear! Arrested three times for whipping your wiener out at the dearly departed Whiskey Dix? What? It’s like they’re asking you to do it. You can’t name a bar Whiskey Dix and not expect dudes to do their best helicopter, grandma will understand your pain.
The Black Sheep’s Tips to
Burning off
Thanksgiving Dinner By: Phil Grim All your hard work in those couple days working out at the TRECS is about to hit a brick wall of digestive troubles. The “average” person consumes around 3,000 calories during their Thanksgiving meal. Here in the South, we might as well add on a couple thousand to that amount, because we get shit done with butter and love. Combined with the over eating habits that complement finals, you might as well throw the prospect of cute holiday dating out the window. That being said, don’t even think about passing on Thanksgiving feastivities — for the love of meat, this is America. So how can you burn off solid foods the same way you burn off the weekly pregame case of Natty Ice? First, there are the stairs at Ayers (say it out loud, it’s fun). You have the option to work out a little extra on campus for the couple weeks after you literally eat your weight in turkey. Roughly a million steps are on the Hill in various areas, so just take them like you used to take down free beer at Whiskey Dix (R.I.P.) and know that with every couple of stairs you’re burning off probably about half a bite of the third round of stuffing you had. Once you’re out of breath and your legs are burning more than they should even for a UT student, you’ll know to eat that gross beet salad shit instead of six dinner rolls next time. You also have the option to do a higher intensity exercise that is essentially more effective. They say heavy breathing is a good way to kill some calories, so plan out a massive dormroom orgy
06
in the midst of being bloated and fatigued. It will be as glorious as 300 Spartans coming together, but this time to accomplish something in the name of a healthier life. If you’re not into hot post-holiday stranger group sex, then just go run for like, three days. Run up and down the 12th floor of Morrill about ten times and you’ll be fine! Bring on Santa’s gravy train! (We’re talking about the winter break dorm orgy, of course.) Friday night is always a prime time for getting your Rumorz groove on, so this is the perfect opportunity to get turnt and physical on the dance floor with a belly full o’ jelly. Everyone is going to look just as ballooned up as you, so tell the DJ to play your favorite jam and burn off as many calories as you can without looking like you’re having some type of “episode.” Avoid drinking beer and sugar — stick to straight shots instead of adding the extra calories. Man up and face your fear of tequila. Everything will be okay if you can burn off that pumpkin pie with double the ice cream by grinding up on bitches at the club. And the next morning, you’ll booze-diarrhea all those pesky remaining calories! Don’t be afraid to go out with your tum-tum sticking out. Go to the gym, walk to class, and throw down at the bars. Believe in yourself and think about what our founding pilgrim fathers would think of you if you didn’t enjoy your life because you “ate too much.” Those bitches passively killed people for our opportunities on this land. Remember what it’s all about: fuck turkeys, get tummy.
7.) Your, uh, Porno: You’ve gotta tell someone before your uncle stumbles across it while looking for gravy recipes. You might have to explain how your ex wanted to film you guys having a serious drunken bone session and now it’s gone viral. In your defense, tell them it’s gotten a lot of hits and you’ve even gotten a call from Brazzers, so you might have a future after all. 6.) Buttchugging: If somehow you kept it under wraps for two years that you were the one and only Buttchugger of the University of Tennessee, but you just couldn’t hold it in anymore, your family will be impressed with how much you kept bottled up, but don’t be shocked if their reaction is “that makes sense….” 5.) The Name’s Candy: Drop the ball on ‘em and thell them how you’ve ultimately decided to give up your degree in biochemistry to kill it at the strip club. The money is great and you’ve made a whole new set of friends like Handsy Hal and Greasy George - the regulars on dollar beer nights. 4.) An Affair to Remember: An affair with a fellow student is simply called a “fling” or “booty call.” These are taken lightly, and your family already knows you throw your cooter around. But to take it to the next level and confess that you’re having a real affair with your professor. You wanted a real man and he’s giving you all A’s, to keep things subtle.
3.) You’re Poor and Married: You didn’t plan it out this way, but you are now forever bound to a homeless man who you have developed a strong connection with since freshman year. He always waited for you before and after class in Prez Court like a gentleman. When you know, you know. 2.) Heroin Chic: Finally! Mom and Dad knew how hard it was for you to fit into a group of friends and now that you have too, you’ve never been happier. Unfortunately it’s the infamous clique that hangs out underneath Henley Street Bridge and shoots heroin. 1.) I’m Pregnant... But with Whom?: This would be the ultimate game stopper as you’re passing the sweet potatoes to your fat Aunt Judy. To say that not only are you pregnant but you’re playing roulette with the baby daddy. It happens! Those free beer Fridays can do no good! He definitely had brown hair... or was it blonde? Anyway, we’ll know for sure next Thanksgiving! Yay!
Around campus Send us your party pics to pics@theblacksheeponline.com
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The Five Stages of “What Would I Say?” sort
Brooke Gabriel shared an article: The new Facebook app “What Would I Say?” brings with it two things: 1.) A reminder that Facebook apps are still a thing, and 2.) Such advanced, mind-blowing technology that can only be described as the Internet’s answer to magnetic poetry. Basically, this program goes through your Facebook account, chops up every sentence and phrase you’ve ever posted on there, and then stitches new ones together into a sort of wordcollage. And just like collaging, sometimes you wind up with an incoherent jumble (think back to art class in first grade, or a sad girl’s “dream board”), and other times you get the Facebook equivalent of a portrait of a guy’s face made up of smaller pictures of the same dude’s face. And while this might appear harmless upon first glance, The Black Sheep has noticed some disturbing trends are starting to emerge among chronic WWIS users. After spending several hours generating statuses and eating raw cookie dough in our Snuggies lots of careful research, we’ve discovered that there are five stages of WWIS use. Those of you who completed an introductory psych class will notice that they’re the five stages of grief, but in reverse. It’s our hope that you share these with your friends and family to protect them, and yourself, from the inevitable emotional toil that comes from reliving Facebook past:
Acceptance:
In this stage, everything’s hunky-dory with you and your youbot. It’s easy to forget how funny and brilliant you are, and it’s great that your pal WWIS is here to remind you that you’ve always been this way. Remember that time when you posted that hilarious “Thanks, Obama!” status last year? WWIS does, and it’s here to show you that it’s even funnier when you mush it together with this years’ equally brilliant post about how much you hate doing homework. “Homework on the first day of the semester?? THANKS, OBAMA!” Oh, you! When was the last time someone really got you this way? This youbot knows your favorite sports teams, the things that matter to you, and always seems to say the right thing at the right time. It’s like you’ve hit that magical point in a relationship where you start to finish each other’s FRIDAY NIGHT ugh homework the weather partaaay!
Depression:
The acceptance phase—in which your love of “What Would I say” could fill the Grand Canyon-- can last for quite a while, and those with lives and/or any semblance of a work ethic may never pass it, but for those who don’t (we’re looking at you, guy who has a paper due in less than 12 hours): beware. Eventually, probably after click 200 or so, WWIS will unearth your posts of Facebook past, and the results aren’t pretty. Remember how you used to post Dashboard Confessional/Alkaline Trio/Postal Service/Emo McSadSad lyrics after a particularly trying day of 9th grade? You will soon. WWIS will also eventually remind you just how much you used to lo0o0o0ove your backstabbing skank of a bff, the adorable pet name you called your recent ex, or just how many times you used “your” when you should have written “you’re”. Was past you really that tragic? Let’s see: “my hopes are so hi that ur kiss mite kill meee <333 RUSH TRI DELT 2012” -youbot You tell us.
The Five Stages of “What Would I Say?”
Bargaining:
In this stage, you’re not ready to accept the ugly truth that WWIS has placed before you, and you’ve started to click wildly, hoping that if you just keep hitting “Generate Status” eventually things will go back to the way they were. You may find yourself pleading with the app, “C’mon, WWIS, take something I said to a friend out of context so I can post it on their wall and show everyone what crazy, kooky buddies we are!” Or “What’s it gonna take for me to get you to string a bunch of buzzwords together to show everyone who’s already read my posts once again how topical and witty they are? I’ll do anything – I’ll even click on that donate to the Philippines button if I have to!”
Anger
Eventually, you’ll grow tired of the app’s refusal to give you what you want, and your initial sadness will turn into frustration, even anger. Of course, these feelings are totally valid. After all, you would think that a free app that you found on the Internet would have a little more integrity, right? You’re a busy individual, how dare it waste your time by re-using material from the same post more than once! Also – a ton of this shit doesn’t even make sense, and while you’ve posted some regrettable nonsense, at least your stuff doesn’t sound like a drunk Yoda said it. So take that, WWIS! And another thing! Sometimes this youbot doesn’t even try to be clever, it just regurgitates your shit verbatim. You came here expecting to be dazzled, and your Facebook friends deserve better than just original content that you think up yourself. Seriously, how lazy can this app be?
Denial:
You’ve reached the conclusion that WWIS really just doesn’t get you. You’re much more complex than this youbot character, and your Facebook posts are much more eloquent and nuanced than whatever thought-jumble this silly app can whip up. Also, you’re pretty sure there’s a fault in the software, because you definitely didn’t hop onboard the “Kony 2012” train like all of those other chumps, and it seems to be under the impression that you’d say “SHARE KONY 2012scarf weather luvvv”. At this point, you’re not 100% sure where exactly the app’s getting its information from, but you’re certain that it’s not from your Facebook page. And just to prove a point, you go to post the most you-ish status that you can possibly think of, but then get sidetracked looking at all of the “What Would I Say?” posts from friends in your Newsfeed. Huh, these are pretty funny… maybe I should go check it out again…
Bartender of the Week Relationship Status: Happily married Favorite Drink: Bacardi and Coke, no lime Favorite Shot: Jack Disgusting Drink: Long Island Tea
If you had to eat five pounds of one item, what would you choose to eat?: Annie’s Mac & Cheese. Would you rather have a hornless unicorn, or a horse with a horn?: A hornless unicorn because it’s mysterious.
How would you spend $1 million in pennies?: Make the floor completely out of pennies.
What bargoer pet peeve would you like to wipe off the face of this earth?: People that come behind back and get in the way.
What is nature’s sexiest animal?: Owl.
What’s something that sounds like a sex position, but isn’t?: Seadog.
What grammar error are you continually guilty of?: When auto correct changes my txt.
If you had to have a hangover or diarrhea for a week, which is it?: Hangover for a week.
Lindsey of Bearden Beer Market
Drinking Game Happy Shotsgiving (and Taking)
Cranberry Apple Crisp
Not all families are totally cool with the whole “drinking during family parties” thing. If you’re stuck in one of those families, there’s still a way to get your buzz on discreetly with a cousin or two.
Thanksgiving dinner has many staple items that everyone seems to look forward to every year—stuffing, pumpkin pie, the turkey (duh) and cranberry sauce. This season, make your own variation on that last one with this recipe we found for Cranberry Apple Crisp.
What You’ll Need: A bottle of Wild Turkey (or anything you’re interested in taking shots or sips of ) and a boat full of gravy. Number of Players: As many as you want. Level of Intoxication: Depends on how wacko your family members are. How to Play: - Take a shot of the Wild Turkey/beer/whatever every time one of these things happen: - That notoriously weird relative does something notoriously weird. - Someone asks, “Do you want light or dark meat?” - Your little cousin complains about eating vegetables. - Someone makes a sex joke about stuffing the turkey. - A balloon blows away during the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. - Your football team of choice scores a touchdown. - Someone asks you how long you’re home from school or if you have any job prospects. - You eat so many appetizers you feel stuffed before dinner is served. - The host forgets a dish in the oven and never gets to serve it. - Someone asks for a recipe of someone else’s dish. - Take a shot of the gravy every time one of these things happen: - You take a shot of alcohol that just doesn’t sit right. - You want to grab some more dessert but feel really guilty about it. - Someone leaves early to start Black Friday shopping. - The underdog football team wins. - Someone says you look like you’ve gained or lost weight. The Game Ends When: Everyone goes home, or you’re in the bathroom puking up the delicious meal you just consumed.
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Recipe for disaster
What You’ll Need: 3 cups chopped/peeled tart apples, 2 cup fresh or frozen cranberries, 1 cup sugar, 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour, 1 and 1/2 cups quick-cooking oats, 1/2 cup flour, 1/2 cup brown sugar, 1/2 cup melted butter, and 1/4 cup chopped pecans. Cook Time: Just over an hour Fatty Factor: It was on Pinterest; none of that shit is healthy. Let’s Get Baked: - Preheat your oven to 350 degrees. - Grab a bowl and combine the apples, cranberries, sugar and flour. - Grease an 11-inch by 7-inch baking dish and pour in the mixed ingredients. - Mix the oats, flour, brown sugar, melted butter and chopped pecans in another bowl. - Sprinkle these ingredients on top of the dish as a topping. - Bake it for 50-55 minutes or until the fruit is tender. Bring it over to your girlfriend’s house for Thanksgiving and make her family love you … and make yours jealous you’d never do anything like that for them.
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Hamocrat’s
War on Thanksgiving By: black sheepstaff Thanksgiving: Pilgrims came over in giant ships that were awful and contained more disease than a frat house bathroom, the food was abysmal, children starved, and giant sea monsters you’ll never hear about thanks to the liberal media attacked the pilgrims every step of the way. After the long and torturous sojourn, they landed at Plymouth Rock, and after a hella-good harvest, some Puritan was like, “Fuck it, let’s eat all this food at once until we can’t move and have to sleep for 16 hours.” Everyone else fervently agreed and thus Thanksgiving was born. Although we still celebrate Thanksgiving and all its glorious traditions, some contemporary families have declared war on the holiday. And no, we’re not talking about your druncle who says “But American Indians weren’t even at the first Thanksgiving, so why can’t I wear sweats to th-zzzzz?” No, we are of course talking about those Thanksgivers who cook ham instead of turkey on this blessed day. We want to begin by pointing out the ob-
vious fact that no one in their right mind calls it “Ham Day” for short, they rightfully declare Thanksgiving “Turkey Day.” What the hell would “Ham Day” even entail? Roasting a pig while some dude with a ponytail plays Meatloaf covers on the ukulele? This is Thanksgiving, not a Hawaiian bar mitzvah. Pig roasts are only acceptable for to specific occasions: The aforementioned Jewish coming-of-age celebrations and the day we set aside for remembering the Bay of Pigs, but only as an ironic statement about the failed structure of Cuban socialism. Nonetheless, ham needs to squeal its way off of our Thanksgiving tables. We all know what this really means, though. It’s a liberal effort to bring down the religious sanctity of Thanksgiving, with the efforts of the liberal media, such as Rachel Ray and Guy Fieri, giving families “great alternative recipes for Thanksgiving feasts.” We know what alternative means: gay or socialist. Truth be told, the left-wing media has had it out for Thanksgiving and what the
holiday means for years. Thanksgiving, as the pilgrims would have it, is about the Puritanical beliefs adhered to on the first feast. It’s there so we can celebrate the bounty that God hath provided throughout the year so we can receive his happiness in the year to come. And as the Bible says, around Chapter 10 of Psalms, or Proverbs, or John, or somewhere near the front: “Thou shall not eat pigs, except in the form of bacon, and definitely not on the day of Thanks, which will later be called Thanksgiving, and will mainly be celebrated in the United States, on the fourth Thursday of November, and on the second Monday of October in Canada. On this day they main dish shall be Turkey and everybody who says different is a liar and a sinner.” We are not paraphrasing, look it up. Or do you not own a Bible, you liberal media whore? Now, some of you may say, “But, I have an allergy to all kinds of fowl, and if I eat Turkey then I’ll die.” Not to sound unsympathetic or anything, but tough nuts, pal. We’re not going to back down because of
some weak-ass dietary restrictions (which of course sound like made-up hippie nonsense to us). If you’re hungry, go eat another biscuit and be thankful you’re not one of those gluten-free assholes. Allergies are 90% psychological and can be cured by sheer will power and large amounts of Echinacea. Jesus wasn’t allergic to anything. Anything but bullshit. We love Thanksgiving here at The Black Sheep, and we’re thankful that we have a day to show how much more thankful we are than everybody else, thankfully. But when you go and mess with the sacred
holiday, we have to put our foot down and tell it how it is. We don’t always like this job, but somebody has to do it. So do us a huge favor and when Mom or Granny, or whichever female cooks the Thanksgiving feast in your household suggests that you change things up this year and make a glazed ham instead of a succulent stuffed turkey, call them a terrorist and throw that piece of shit in the trash. Obama might have won health care, but we’ll shut the government down again if we have to in order to end the War on Thanksgiving.
y r e v E ic riday! s u M Live ay and F d s r u h T
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