HAPPY THANKSGIVING
I'm bored, so here's my annual Thanksgiving story. It helps if you know a bit about the history of Taunton -- and the fact that I'm never EVER serious. Apologies if you got this last year.
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As usual, on Monday, I accidentally fell into a temporal distortion caused by a black hole and got sent back to 1621. I really, really hate when that happens -- especially on half price pizza day. I get ornery when I miss Half Price Pizza Day.
It took me a moment, but I was able to get my bearings, and suddenly realized I was in ancient Taunton -- right after I tripped over a pot hole.
I headed down to the Green. At least it looked like the Green. There was an elderly Indian maiden holding a sign with a biblical quote declaring Chief Samoset evil incarnate, and a small group of tattooed settlers on ponies lounging about.
As it normally happens to most time travelers, I immediately bumped into the two most important people from that era -- Chief Massasoit of the Wampanoag tribe and William Bradford of the Mayflower colony. Both had taken a day trip down from Plymouth to get away from the wives.
I moved in closer to eavesdrop. Not surprisingly, as is common to all time travelers as well, both spoke perfect 2011 English, the only difference beng one called it Tawn-ton and the other called it Tarn-ton.
Massasoit was clearly upset. “Look, Billy, I know your people are lousy farmers, but you gotta stop stealing our grain and shooting our critters!”
“Sorry, Chief. But we’re starving here! Christopher Jones has even begun setting traps for Myles’ poodle!”
That answer didn't seem to calm the old Indian. “Heck, you’re even starting to piss off poor Squanto, who’s thinking of sending smoke signals to your wife about that afternoon you guys
spent in Provincetown. Something has to be done!”
This is where I jumped in.
“Look, fellas. I got a great idea. Bill, you know how you guys spend every Thursday in mid-week prayer session??”
Bradford’s eyes rolled. “yeah, that was another of Myles’ great ideas. He figured it’d be a good way to try get everyone together and try to sell tickets to a booze cruise aboard the Mayflower.”
“And … uh … Mass … can I call you Mass? You know how you’ve run out of space for all that excess food you’ve been storing up for the winter?”
“Yeah, I really miss using my spare teepee for poker night …”
“Well, how about you guys throw a huge party instead this week? You can start by watching the Macy’s parade, sitting down to a great feast of turkey, stuffing, and pumpkin pie with both tribes, then settling back and watching some football!”
Both men just stared at me. I’d forgotten forks, ovens, football – not to mention Macy’s and the entire city of New York – hadn’t been invented yet.
I could see they were deciding who’d get the honor of chasing me away, when, luckily yet another distortion in the space-time continuum sucked me back to modern day Taunton.
But I’m firmly convinced it was me – yup, me – that gave them the idea of Thanksgiving.
As it normally happens to most time travelers, I immediately bumped into the two most important people from that era -- Chief Massasoit of the Wampanoag tribe and William Bradford of the Mayflower colony. Both had taken a day trip down from Plymouth to get away from the wives.
I moved in closer to eavesdrop. Not surprisingly, as is common to all time travelers as well, both spoke perfect 2011 English, the only difference beng one called it Tawn-ton and the other called it Tarn-ton.
Massasoit was clearly upset. “Look, Billy, I know your people are lousy farmers, but you gotta stop stealing our grain and shooting our critters!”
“Sorry, Chief. But we’re starving here! Christopher Jones has even begun setting traps for Myles’ poodle!”
That answer didn't seem to calm the old Indian. “Heck, you’re even starting to piss off poor Squanto, who’s thinking of sending smoke signals to your wife about that afternoon you guys
spent in Provincetown. Something has to be done!”
This is where I jumped in.
“Look, fellas. I got a great idea. Bill, you know how you guys spend every Thursday in mid-week prayer session??”
Bradford’s eyes rolled. “yeah, that was another of Myles’ great ideas. He figured it’d be a good way to try get everyone together and try to sell tickets to a booze cruise aboard the Mayflower.”
“And … uh … Mass … can I call you Mass? You know how you’ve run out of space for all that excess food you’ve been storing up for the winter?”
“Yeah, I really miss using my spare teepee for poker night …”
“Well, how about you guys throw a huge party instead this week? You can start by watching the Macy’s parade, sitting down to a great feast of turkey, stuffing, and pumpkin pie with both tribes, then settling back and watching some football!”
Both men just stared at me. I’d forgotten forks, ovens, football – not to mention Macy’s and the entire city of New York – hadn’t been invented yet.
I could see they were deciding who’d get the honor of chasing me away, when, luckily yet another distortion in the space-time continuum sucked me back to modern day Taunton.
But I’m firmly convinced it was me – yup, me – that gave them the idea of Thanksgiving.
And I'm pretty sure that’s the reason the cats have ceded the stalking duties over to the turkeys.
Fame has its price.
posted by Buddy Lortie at
3:16 PM
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