Hi everybody. Welcome to the blog where I talk about the past.
I’m gonna dedicate this blog to my daughter. She’s very cool.
Every Thanksgiving I tell the following story. I think I told you before, but I’ll tell it again.
I lived in Australia, in a town called Manly. It was near Sydney. One night I had a dinner party and in a drunken stuper (imagine that…) I promised my Australian friends a Thanksgiving dinner. Well the next day, my wife at the time, reminded me that I’d promised my friends a Thanksgiving day dinner. Well, I thought, Oh man, OK, I guess I better serve them up a dinner. I thought, no problem, I got this. Ha ha. The Gods were laughing at me. Try and find a turkey in Australia. I looked everywhere. I couldn’t find one. I finally called the US Embassy. They said they had an extra one at a butcher in Double Bay. I went there and they brought it out to me on a cart. I swear, the thing was the size of a baby Emu. I still say it was an emu. Anyway, after getting home, I looked at the bird, my oven, the bird, my oven. I thought, no way. It’s not gonna fit. I took out all the racks, all the support for the racks. I finally put the bird in the oven on a giant tray on some bricks. Then I tried to shut the door. It wouldn’t shut. So I wrapped the whole thing in tin foil. I started cooking at about 4 in the afternoon, and we finally ate around 5 am. We were so drunk, the carpet would have tasted good. The cherry on top of the cake was that I was awoken to some baby tree kangaroos fighting over my turkey carcass outside. They were a rough bunch.
Just another Thanksgiving down under.
Love, B. Nice
P.S. Have a good Thanksgiving everyone!
