A Very Ironic Thanksgiving

27 Feb

(A family is gathered in their dining room for Thanksgiving. The table is covered with an embroidered tablecloth and loaded with china bowls of food. A kind-looking mother and father are sitting there, along with their heavily-tattooed and pierced son.)

MOM: Josh, it’s so nice that you got here from Portland for Thanksgiving. That storm could’ve really messed up your travel plans.

JOSH: Please, Mom, call me Lotus.

MOM: Lotus?

LOTUS: Yes, Lotus. My yogi gave it to me. He says I am radiant like a lotus blossom.

DAD: That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, Josh. Are you still playing guitar?

LOTUS: The guitar? I sold it. As of now, I’m playing lead in an all-accordion post-glam pre-thrash speed folk band. We’ve got a cool 26 plays on MySpace since March. We’re working on this new three track EP that will sell in almost 7 stores across Oregon. It’s gonna be sick!

DAD: You know what, Josh-

LOTUS: LOTUS!

DAD: Fine, Lotus. But when are you gonna get a job? Or go back to school? You had a full ride to Berkeley.

(Lotus’s disgusted cringe makes the dragon tattooed on his neck dance. His mom starts to tear.)

LOTUS: I told you, Berkeley was inhibiting my creativity. Besides, I have a job: I’m an Occupy manager for my block.

DAD: Sure, you make two bucks a week sleeping in your own feces with other weirdos. That’s exactly what a National Merit Scholar should be doing with his life.

MOM: Harold, stop it! Don’t ruin another Thanksgiving!

LOTUS: Yeah, cool it Dad. I’ve been sending resumes around as well. And I’m going back to school.

DAD: Oh. Then I’m sorry. So what’s this you’re doing?

LOTUS: I’m going to the Portland School of Glass-blowing, and you don’t need to pay a thing. I’m becoming a barrista.

DAD: Fine, I don’t give a rat’s ass. Do whatever you want to do, but I’m not paying for it anymore.

(Lotus  slams his chair against the table and walks into the kitchen. His mom follows him.)

MOM: Honey, don’t worry. You can stay here whenever you need to.

LOTUS: (tearfully): Really? Thanks, Mom.

MOM: Of course, sweetie. Just take those tunnel plugs out of your ears, please. You look like the plumbing department of a hardware store.


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