Hey, everyone, I’d like to apologize for my conduct last Thanksgiving when I was maybe a sore winner about Donald Trump winning the election. I shouldn’t have rubbed it in everyone’s faces that Trump narrowly won again.
So, for the sake of civility this year, I think we shouldn’t mention the recent off-year elections, or Trump’s approval ratings, or the cost-of-living, or the rising unemployment rate, or the ongoing Epstein cover-up.
I admit I may have gotten a little ahead of myself last year vowing that food prices and inflation would be much lower this Thanksgiving thanks to Trump’s tariffs. And I was maybe a little premature in celebrating the impending end of the war in Ukraine. And no one is more disappointed than me that Trump still hasn’t revealed his Obamacare replacement plan.
I also feel a little embarrassed about how confident I was when I told everyone that Trump was going to finally release the Epstein Files like all his surrogates and sons swore he would during the campaign, and that the Democrats were the only ones who would be outed as Epstein’s friends.
Which is why I’d like to prevent the dinner table conversation from getting wrapped around the axel about whose political party is blocking the release of the files this time around. I say this year we all bury the hatchet, and not bring up any politics at all.
Because, at the end of the day both parties are the same anyway. All politicians inevitably let you down.
So in the spirit of lowering the temperature, a few days ago I started the first of many sessions of laser removal for the Trump tattoo on my neck.
And this year I promise not to write “FJB” with whipped cream on all the pumpkin and pecan pies.
I won’t end saying grace with, “Amen, and let’s go, Brandon.”
I won’t wear my MAGA hat, my “Joe & The Hoe” t-shirt, a bandage over my ear, or my gold Trump shoes. And you won’t see any more Trump flags on the back of my truck when I pull into the driveway.
I won’t accuse Grandma of being Woke if she gives me a piece of dark meat instead of only white meat.
I won’t get Grandpa all worked up telling him that his WWII service was a waste of time because the war was actually Winston Churchill’s fault.
And I promise not to cross any lines again antagonizing my Woke liberal nieces.
I won’t grab a fist full of mashed potatoes off Morgan’s plate, and tell her it was the Kamala Harris socialist tax she had voted for.
I won’t tell Abigail that applying for college is a waste of time, and will turn her into a childless, blue-haired, lesbian, cat lady.
I won’t upset Sophia shouting at her, “Your body, my choice.”
And I definitely won’t call ICE on Megan’s boyfriend again — though at least now we can all rest assured that he’s not a Mexican cartel terrorist — he’s just suspiciously tan in November.
So you have my word, no politics this year!
And, in return, I’d like it if no one mentions how the D.O.G.E. cuts led to my company losing business and firing me.
Or how Trump’s tariffs caused my next job to cancel its proposed new factory and fire me.
Or how the government shutdown caused me to lose 40 days’ worth of pay at my next job.
And I’d appreciate it if no one asks how much money I lost in Trump’s pump & dump crypto coin.
And if no one brings up how I failed the preliminary physical fitness test when I tried to apply for ICE to get the $50,000 signing bonus. I hadn’t heard that being able to do 10 pushups was a requirement. Go figure — the one time I actually need some DEI inclusion and equity from the government, it’s nowhere to be found!
So let’s have the best Thanksgiving ever by not discussing any of the news or its consequences this last year!
P.S.: I promise I’m leaving my AR-15 at home this year. 🥃
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The Halfway Post 