Happy Day After Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving isn't just about sticking it to PETA. No, it's also about one of the greatest episodes of Television ever, the "Thanksgiving Turkey Drop" episode from WKRP in Cincinnati.

If you are unfamiliar with the show or the episode in question, WKRP follows the exploits of a last place radio station in late '70s Cincinnati, Ohio. And in this episode, the scatter-brained station president, Mr. Carlson, has decided to give away free turkeys before Thanksgiving as a station promotional event. But, as a surprise, he has kept his staff in the dark as to just HOW he plans to do this.

And as God as my witness ... you will crap your pants laughing.

You can watch the episode in three parts here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.

Today's lesson: After this, Gordon Jump, AKA Mr. Carlson, would go on to fame as both the Maytag repairman and the bicycle shop owner who molested Arnold's friend Dudley in THAT episode of "Diff'rent Strokes". In fact, most Americans today when they hear the words "pedophile" or "pederast", still think "quality appliances." So, in one way, the ad campaign worked: Whenever a pedophile is caught, Maytag's sales go up.

Happy Thanksgiving

Tomorrow I will be having Thanksgiving with complete and utter strangers.

There will be one person I know well and two, the hosts, I casually know, but the rest of the guests -- and there should be a total of 10 or more -- are people with whom i am on neither a first, last, nor even World of Warcraft name basis. In such situations, I tend to be very quiet and unobtrusive in a corner of the room -- that is, until it's time for me to say something incredibly stupid -- and yet, unremarkable -- and to hear what sounded hysterical in my head just sort of ... trail off ... into nothingness.

What's better is that many of these people will be in someway connected to the independent film industry. And that means that while they will be discussing whether "2046" was a disappointment or not, I will be searching for a plausible lie to cover for the fact that the last DVD I watched was "Hostel" (but only because "Cool Runnings" was checked out).

And this isn't to say that these people are pretentious in any way: far from it. It is to say that I like to compound my social inadequacies with the Awkward Bomb (It's amazing: you look down at your ring finger, and it has a grenade pin around it. And you say to yourself, "I don't remember saying: 'Brain: Pull it.'").

And to explain it in another fashion: Ladies, remember the 12-year-old fat girl at the dance with the braces and floral print dress, and Gentlemen, remember the 12-year-old who brought his entire collection of Transformers to school one day for no apparent reason and even the History Club stayed away? That's me.

What I'm most worried about, however, is that my friend Cortez (as he sometimes does) will announce, quite drunkenly (as he all the time does) that "Hey, well, yeah, you know" -- BURRRRRP! -- "John's got a ... a ... a blog!"

"Really?"

"Yeah, where's your computer?"

And it will be at that moment that my only hope will be that Irony is not dead but has evolved to some higher plane to something beyond the idea of solids, liquids, and gases.

And it will be at this moment, the one you're at right now, that they will look to me to say whatever comment comes to mind, but instead exclaim, "Where's John?" And notice, for the first time, the door ajar and the bird getting cold.

Today's lesson: A happy Turkey day, all. Stay safe, drunk and wise, and we'll see each other again on Saturday.

Love, Faulkner, and Michael Richards

A few questions and responses about love, Faulkner, and Michael Richards from readers who may or may do not exist:

John, what do I do when I get the “Just Friends” speech from a woman?

Simple: Take her up on it. Next time she goes to the lady’s room to blow a few rails, tell her she has to take you with her.

Because THAT'S Friendship.

John, I understand you finally rid yourself of three months worth of unrecycled newspapers. Why the sudden change?

Well, push came to shove and that’s exactly how I got them out the door.

John, what do you do when someone is telling an anecdote but just won’t get to the fucking point?

I give them a wide berth. But if parenthetical leads to parenthetical leads to em-dashing of an exorbitant amount, I tell Faulkner to get to the fucking point.

You call him Faulkner? Why not “Joyce” or "Pynchon"?

Faulkner’s funnier.

John, is there anything good to come out of this Michael Richards imbroglio?

Well, let’s see … CNN found out Sinbad was still alive and conscious enough to say something: So, I guess we can consider the silver lining found.

Any other opinions on the matter?

I think Barbara Walters is going to have one helluva year. Scratch that: I think AA is going to have the helluva year. Babs will place, though.

To whom should he apologize?

Well, first to the black men whom he insulted. Then to the rest of the audience. And, finally, to anyone who has to sit through a Michael Richards joke at their local Yuk Yuk’s for the next -- and we can only hope -- six months.

Do you think he’s honestly sorry he did it?

I think anyone standing to make money off of “Seinfeld” Season 7 is honestly sorry he did it.

Today’s lesson: Actually, there is one more silver lining and it’s for whomever is doing PR for “Apocalpyto”: Suddenly, Mel Gibson isn’t the worst racist in LA anymore (but then again: was he ever?).