So you're sitting around a cornucopia of Thanksgiving delight: turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, sides, salads, and three pies your mother-in-law bought at Sam's Club and put in metal dishes so they look homemade. It's a smorgasbord and your arteries are hardening just thinking about it.
Everyone is anxious to eat and a little buzzed from two early afternoon glasses of wine when someone (that pie-faking mother-in-law, most likely) suggests that you, of all people, recite grace before the big meal.
What do you do? Play it straight with few simple words of thanks? Nah, too predictable. Go for a laugh by praising the baby Jesus like Ricky Bobby
? No way, it'll go right over everyone's heads.
No, the best way to make an impression on those in-laws is to quote the greatest author St. Louis ever produced: William S. Burroughs
Here is the heroin-shooting, queer-as-folk, beat genius' charming ode to Thanksgiving. Start memorizing it now.