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12/3/02

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FRANK HASKINS

Thanksgiving: A Day for Giving Thanks That You
Didn't Get Fucked Over Even Worse Than You Did

First of all, I'd like to extend my "sincere thanks" for the "fan mail" that came in after my last column. When you're Frank Haskins, people put you on a pedestal for only one reason: so they can more readily locate your bunghole when they go to fuck you up the ass later. By Christmas, my "fans" will be e-mailing the editor and demanding my crucifixion. Seen it a million times. More predictable than the end of a Sandra Bullock movie.

For most people, Thanksgiving is a day of celebration. For Frank Haskins, it's just another day to get a good swift kick in the giblets, if you know what I mean.

Take this Thanksgiving, for example. I figured on having a little quality time with my teenage kids for the day. Instead, my son goes off to my soon-to-be-ex-wife's place, and my daughter takes off to go play grabass with her tongue-pierced boyfriend in the back seat of my '85 Impala in some mall parking lot. Still trying to clean the spooge off of the goddamn upholstery. After they finish swapping bodily fluids, she heads over to Cruella De Vil's place, too. Next, my cable TV goes down like Mariah Carey at a stag party, causing me to miss the Lions/Patriots game. After my Swanson "Turkey Lips 'n Assholes" Frozen Dinner turned my toaster oven into a four-alarm fire, I headed over to my favorite watering hole for a row of shots. Fucking place was closed for the "holiday."

If Frank Haskins had been a pilgrim on the Mayflower, it would've landed at a fucking leper colony.

(Reported by Miles Walker)