I thought long and hard about what I could possibly write in this essay, but to be honest I came up with diddly squat. I’m an old white man in a land of Indians, and I just spent mountains of time on a large ship, only to arrive in this ghost town. At least the women wear scant clothing, and the corn is freaking amazing. The insignificant things are what I miss the most about the good ol’ UK. I yearn every day to take a trip to Ye Olde Country Market and the local Sweets Shoppe with the purple coloured door. I miss using the word “crisps” for what are apparently known as “chips.” I even miss the 11 members of my family who died gruesome, uncharacteristically vomit-filled deaths on the trip across the Atlantic. All these things occupy a void in my heart that cannot be filled, except possibly by the love of a beautiful Indian woman and 19 successful stints in my small log cabin. I also miss the British “dress code,” so to speak. I never understood the transition from wearing regular clothing to suddenly sporting top hats, large belt buckles and frilly undershirts the moment we landed. If there were any time to use the word “random” to perfectly describe a situation, this would be it. Unless a headless alien fell from the sky and began to sing and dance to the Macarena. That would be random as hell. Anyways, let’s get started. First off, I’m thankful for my race. (Looks like I outsmarted you here, Professor Chief Iron Claw. Not only did I turn this into yet another white supremacist paper, but I have also proceeded to answer the question.) I plan on pushing these damn natives west until they either fall into the ocean or end up in some state like Oregon. And yes, I am just predicting that some day this land will be divided into states, and one of the worst states will be named Oregon. Secondly, I am thankful for my brethren. I would not be where I am today without my homies (just a word I’m creating to replace “brethren”; perhaps it will catch on), and therefore, I thank them for everything they have given me. Third, I am thankful for sulfur. Without sulfur, we would not have gunpowder. Without gunpowder, we would not have guns. Without guns, I would never have been able to shoot that family of snowy owls. Without those snowy owls, I would not have such a beautiful necklace and living room carpet. I hope that I have clearly articulated both sides of my well thought-out thesis, which I never actually stated. Basically, my point is that when your whole family dies and you no longer have access to a Sweets Shoppe, life can be a bit of a bore. In the end, all I can really do is thank God for gambling, 24-hour bars and absinthe, and hope that life has something better in store for me in the near future. In the meantime, have a nice Thanksgiving; I think I’ll go dive headfirst off of Plymouth Rock now.
