That’s what you call a fucking shitshow. It all started with you and your bros going out on #Wednesday night for the biggest fucking drinking night of the year. It was pretty depressing to see all the former hot girls from your #111 High School class who’re now fat as shit and/or pregnant. It’s hard to believe that girl you finger-blasted under the bleachers in gym class is fucking married. Do you think her husband knows about the time you guys “horsed around” in the Chem Lab safety shower? Whatever, at least you got to bang her when she was hot.
Anyways, Wednesday’s shitshow turned into you #48 puking your fucking brains out at your Grandmother’s apartment Thanksgiving morning. After that you invented the game “Drink everytime Jim Nantz sucks off Tony Romo,” so needless to say you blacked the fuck out. You woke up surrounded by half eaten pies, smashed decorative squash, and a fucking Cornucopia on your head. Your parents stacked up some cleaning supplies and a note, “I WANT IT GONE BY NOON!!” Fuck them. They can’t tell you what to do. Besides, you gotta fucking concentrate on the main event. All year long you’ve been waiting for this moment. You throw on some John Randle Eye Black, strap on some cleats, and start jumping up and down in front of the fucking mirror screaming Under Armor catch phrases. It’s time alright – time for the fucking Turkey Bowl.
As time goes by, bros start to spread across the country and the sad part about this shit is that you end up rarely seeing them. It’s always fucking tough to get people together just to do what you do best: get fucking wasted and talk shit to one another. Thanksgiving weekend is the perfect time for this shit. Sure you’ve got Blackout Wednesday to get fucked up and see everyone from High School that you never wanted to talk to again, but after your quality #161 hungover family time on Thanksgiving, the rest of the weekend should be spent with your bros. And, other than drinking until you puke, what better way to spend this time than trying to fucking hurt each other.
Turkey Bowls aren’t some pussy-ass-pick-up-two-hand-touch game where someone is counting out fucking “Mississippis” – they’re fucking war. If you’re not playing tackle, what the fuck are you doing? Avoiding injury? Fucking please, if you’re scared of breaking bones, why don’t you go sit in the fucking stands and talk about God knows what, probably tampon brands, with all the other girls. Besides, bones heal and slam pieces fucking love scars.
While the game itself is fucking fun, it doesn’t compare to the shit talk leading up to it. The last thing you want to do is lose and hear about it for the rest of the year. Bros don’t keep in touch by making fucking “phone dates to catch-up.” We send out Youtube videos of people getting hurt, pictures of girls we’ve banged, and most importantly, talk shit as much as fucking possible. To be honest, I don’t give a shit how my friends’ jobs are going. Fuck, I don’t even know what half my bros do, but I do know who’s the fucking bitch that gave up that bomb last year to lose the game, and he should too, because I remind that little bitch about it every fucking day.
Now, you don’t just roll up to the Turkey Bowl with fucking orange slices and choose sides. We set those rosters months in advance, so you can properly work up a solid fit of rage and hatred against your best friends. And we don’t all just “meet at the field at 3” like some fucking poor people. Last year, we had a limo bus transport our team together to the field to show solidarity. And to properly lead us onto the field of battle, we had two Redskins #134 cheerleaders. What’s that? Sounds like a waste of money? Sounds like you’re a fucking piece of shit bro-hater. Although they didn’t technically “cheer” and instead just stood on the sideline counting down the minutes until they were allowed to leave like some hooker getting paid by an obese man just to talk because he’s so lonely, they fucking inspired us. Sure I guess there could be other people who could have used that money, but I don’t give a fuck. Isn’t the point of Thanksgiving to be thankful for what you have? Our parents worked hard as shit to get rich so we could have EVERY advantage in life, especially professional cheerleaders at a Thanksgiving weekend friendly football game. If poor people REALLY need money so they can eat, then they should have gotten one of those free fucking turkeys everyone’s been handing out. Either that or, oh I don’t know, get a fucking job!
In this time of giving Thanks, we look back over the past year to the things we appreciate. From all the girls we’ve banged to that time we took 13 #177 shots, blacked the fuck out and miraculously didn’t end up in some ditch on the side of the road. But more than anything we give thanks for our bros. Tradition plays a major part in every bro’s life, and there’s no better tradition than blindsiding one of your best friends and dancing over top of him as he lies motionless on the ground, while screaming, “SIT DOWN WHEN YOU PEE, BITCH.” God I fucking love the Turkey Bowl.
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