The first annual Brozovich Thanksgiving was smoother than eel ejaculate in a Wendy's Frosty machine (in fact it went so smooth that we are planning on hosting 46 family, friends and a village of Sudanese refugees to dine on a 250 pound peacock for Christmas). Bird was devoured, spirits were imbibed (including one Christmas Tree flavored Jones Soda) and my fur pants and the wife's matching fur skirt were the talk of the event. Total cook time for the beast: four hours.

Labels: thanksgiving, the greens, wife

Tired of driving to and fro during past Thanksgivings, the wife and I decided to host the annual binge-eating celebration of the harvest's conclusion at our house. We are expecting over twenty people to show up and obliterate the 28 pound turkey we ordered and leave a trail of intestinal gases in their wake. Equally impressive to the girth of our fowl will be my fur pants. Yes, you read that correctly. I must be careful what I mention to the wife in passing in the future. Jokingly proclaiming that "Thanksgiving would be a lot more comfortable in fur pants" last year has motivated the wife to make me some fur pants. A picture of me adorned in my befurred trousers carving up an immense turkey will be imminent.

Labels: thanksgiving, the greens, wife

The wife and I celebrated our annual Thanksgiving tradition and ran in the Denver Turkey Trot this morning. The weather was beautiful and my legs and lungs felt good. My iPod crapped out on me during mile 3 and after numerous attempts to reboot the device, I am now faced with retiring the old girl for one of those new fangled jimmys. Soon we will be off to gorge on basted fowl and curse Jake Plummer as he fumble fucks around on the gridiron and causes our beloved Broncos lose two in a row to division rivals. Happy Thanksgiving.

Labels: health, l-i-v-i-n, thanksgiving, wife

Tomorrow the wife and I will minimize the Thanksgiving fattening by running in the 32nd annual Turkey Trot. Running four miles in the morning is our way of justifying the stuffing of basted wild bird and assorted pumpkin deserts down our collective pie holes.

Fuck you, holiday weight gain.

Labels: health, thanksgiving, wife

My Thanksgiving holiday was pleasant, fattening and free of stabbings. My lady and I ran the Turkey Trot in the morning and then spent the rest of the day being gluttonous hogs. Big comedy was delivered via the grandmothers as we kept vigil over the basted fowl:

Grandma #1: (describing her recent cataract surgery) It was like a psychedelic nightmare.
Grandma #2: I do not like anybody who takes drugs when they do not need them.

Labels: family, gluttony, health, l-i-v-i-n, thanksgiving, wife

My lady and I were laid up with colds for most of the Thanksgiving holiday. Luckily we did not catch the death flu. While we were able to eat Thanksgiving dinner, our heads were so full and stuffed up that tasting the meal was another matter. I spent most of my illness boozed up on NyQuil, sleeping and watching daytime television. NyQuil does some funky shit to your subconscious mind. I had some strange dreams when I was serving my green master. The most bizarre was when I dozed off watching the Peoples Court and dreamed that my lady and I were attending the Westwood College of Aviation with Scott Weiland (I think he was on Maury Povich that day) and Judge Marilyn Milian. Watching my lady, a judge and a heroin addict rebuild an airplane carburetor was a thing a beauty.

Labels: l-i-v-i-n, pop culture, thanksgiving, wife