A White House Thanksgiving

So, I held a little contest this week for the writers at Nuking Politics to come up with an article I will post here at IMAO. A chance at glory and copious amounts of bacon. All of the submission were, in my opinion, excellent. But one stood out among the rest: Thanksgiving at the White House, by fellow nuker Lactose the Intolerant [High Praise!].


It’s Thanksgiving at the White House. Obama had invited Elizabeth Warren, the first female Native American Senator, Ingrid Newkirk, the first President of PETA, and Joe Biden, the first mentally challenged Vice President of the United States, over for the holiday feast.

Biden (Opens door to see Ingrid Newkirk holding two buckets of red paint. She is nude except for feathers taped to her helter skelter, and her body has been diagrammed labeling parts as drumstick, thigh, gizzard, etc.): (giggles)
Newkirk: Hello, Joe.
Biden: (giggles)
Obama: Welcome, Ingrid. Well, that is an interesting outfit. That will certainly help us avoid overeating today. (shudder) Please make yourself comfortable. Have a seat over there. Yes, right over there where the shadows are darkest. Let me draw these curtains tight. Joe! Joe! Get off her leg!

(Doorbell rings)
Biden (runs to door and opens it): Hi. I am Joe.
Warren: How, Joe.
Biden: How what?
Warren: ‘How’ is Native American for ‘hello.’ Can you say how?
Biden: What? Why? Hello.
Warren: Not hello. How.
Biden: I am Joe.
Obama: Joe, see the ball? See the ball, Joe? Go get the ball, Joe! Go get it! Sorry, Liz. That should keep Joe busy for a little while. We’re having a hard time training him to keep off of visitors.
Warren: At least I hear you’ve gotten him to stop marking his territory.
Obama: That is true. And we are thankful. We never should have let him play with Bo. Monkey see, monkey do. Welcome to my humble home.
Warren: Here’s the dish I promised you. I hope you all enjoy it. This recipe goes back in my family since way before the Mayflower raped this land. This Native American specialty was probably served at the first Thanksgiving. It’s called Turkey Tikka Masala.
Newkirk (brandishing a bucket of red paint): I thought we had agreed to a vegan holiday.
Warren: No worries. I made this with Tofurkey. Tofurkey has a storied tradition among my tribe. I still remember my grandmother telling me tales of when her father used to go out and hunt the wild tofurkey. There used to be flocks of them, but that was before the paleface came. They didn’t even like to eat the tofurkey. They just wanted the lovely plumage. The plucked carcasses littered the land like litter. (A lone tear crawls down her pale cheek).

Mrs. Obama (entering from the kitchen carrying a large platter containing a roast animal that is clearly not a turkey. Think smaller, with more legs and fur): And here is the piece de resistance.
Newkirk (brandishing bucket): I thought we had agreed to a vegan holiday.
Mrs. Obama: No, no no. Please don’t get up. This is the traditional Kenyan meal of gratitude. Don’t you recall the pecking order? African culture trumps animal rights wackos. It’s like Lincoln used to say. All cultures are equal, except some cultures are more equal than others. Besides, this is the one you euthanized for me special.
Newkirk: Little Fluffernutter? The Bichon Frise?
Mrs. Obama: Bichon Fricassee.
Obama: Yep. And I made this powdered wig from the pelt. Don’t I look aristocratic?
Mrs. Obama: And that wig is totally gay, which trumps even African culture. You lose on both counts. Oh Barack, you would make such a cute gay black man.
Newkirk: You’re a monster!
Obama: Hey, you don’t talk to her like that. If you have a problem, you deal with me. Do you understand me? You deal with me.
Newkirk: Then you’re a monster too!
Obama (from behind Michelle): Racist!
Newkirk: I won’t be a part of this. Good day, sir. And I’m taking my seaweed ripple ice cream with me.
Obama: Come on. Don’t be like that. Come here. Stroke my wig and kiss my ring. It will make you feel better.
Newkirk: Goodbye.

Biden: Can I sit at that big boy table?
Mrs. Obama: It is ‘may’ I sit at the big boy table, and no you may not. Big boys use proper grammar.
Biden: Aw nuts!
Mrs. Obama: And keep the cork on your fork. But I’ll let you have the front drumstick. The paw is the best part.
Biden: Yippee!

Obama: But before we partake, I think you should all take a moment and say grace to me and reflect upon why you are thankful for me and all that I have done for you. I have prepared some remarks for the occasion. Just give the teleprompter a moment to heat up.
Biden: I want to speech too! Please. I wrote it all by myself.
Obama: OK, but then it is back to the kids’ table.
Biden: Yippee! Ready. OK. Four score and seven years ago (recites Gettysburg Address).
Obama: Joe, are you sure you wrote that yourself? That sounded like one of my speeches.
Biden: OK. I stole it from the iPod you gave the queen.
Obama: You know what the rule is about plagiarism.
Biden: Yes. Don’t ever get caught.
Obama: And?
Biden: And if you do get caught, cry racist.
Obama: That’s right. Let’s try this again. Joe, are you sure you wrote that yourself? That sounded like one of my speeches.
Biden: You’re a racist!
Obama: I’m speechless. Good boy, Joe. And now that my teleprompter is up and running, we are almost ready to eat. Just after my speech. It will be a dramatic interpretation of The Audacity of Hope. Chapter One…….

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