Before I pour more tasty tid-bits down your swollen gullet to expand you another 2 pant sizes, don’t forget to get your input in on Alligator River. The results so far have been… interesting… to say the least. So now with that shameless self-promotional plug out of the way… here is the bountiful Thanksgiving feast from this past week in my blogosphere…
Back in the day your feast preparation was to go hunting for the game to eat. This was a dangerous task since you might get eaten by what you were hunting or a lion, tiger, or bear. Things haven’t changed much. Lisa‘s trip to the bank almost saw her quarantined like the monkey from that movie.
Every feast requires preparation and someone needs to do the dirty deed. Luckily Dave has his monkey to do the dirty work. Someone should maybe put the monkey back in quarantine now.
The continuing spiral of the US education system continues to amaze me. Jester points out that some kids don’t even know what a turkey looks like. At least it’ll taste like chicken.
It’s one thing to have family coming to dinner… it’s another thing when its royalty. There is only one thing CP can do to recover… retail therapy.
While its always good to see old family. Rachel had to experience bringing someone new to dinner. I bet he sat on her lap the whole time.
Appetizers are a sure fire way to ruin an appetite for the main meal. So what should you do? Perhaps you should eat flavored lip gloss. Of course those are all empty calories… this way Poppy has more room for Lemon Drops… because we all know how much she
‘s them.
You know you have arrived when the big bird finally lands on the table. Luckily for Luin, Thanksgiving grace was kept simple, “1…2…3…4…5…”
Once the triptophan starts kicking in, its time to watch some cinema before the full table of desserts. Eventually someone will learn not to give Avi the Blockbuster Card… really.
Now comes the deliciousness that has been anticipated all day… it is finally dessert time when we shove sugary and crumbly sweets to combat the triptophan crap. Thankfully Miss Britt did not choose the “Guacamole Pie” recipe from the dessert book.
With dessert done, and the women folk washing the dishes, its time for the men to pull out the boxes of Christmas ornaments that eventually will be decorating the house. A REAL man makes his own ornaments… just like Fab.
And finally…
When its 4:00am Friday morning, and everyone is shopping EXCEPT you because they are inserting a nasal gastric tube to help pump your stomach from the food poisoning caused by the undercooked sausage in the stuffing of the turkey, the things you are TRULY thankful for will flash past your eyes…
Who needs Alka Seltzer when you have Dana to the rescue?
So those are the left overs from the Thanksgiving feast… and what a feast it was! Have a good week…
As a reward for feeding me with my internal thirst for reading materials… I designed this simple button for those who may want to display their Snacked upon status proudly:
Additionally… because I am beyond benevolent and loving contrary to what some people believe… here is the code for you to use with a permalink directly to this post. So if your blog was snacked upon today, all you need to do is copy and past the code:
Smorgashboard Sunday is a weekly compilation of interesting posts, pictures, and videos that I have found within the 250+ feeds of personal or personal related blogs that I currently read. Due to the volume of blogs and the 10-12 posts I limit myself to comment on, there may be times when posts that you author do not appear. This is not to say that you did not have a good post, or an important post, or even a post I did not read because in all likelihood I did indeed read it. This simply means that for that week(s) that you are excluded… well… I thought other posts were better choices for the Snacking. This does not mean I don’t like you, I don’t love you, or that I don’t read you. It just means that for that week(s), I chose other posts but there is always the possibility of next week. Unless.
Unless you cry, whine, send me e-mail messages begging me to feature you, send e-cards with links to the posts you want linked, tell me how I don’t love you, tell me how I don’t like you, tell me how sad you are, tell me how I don’t read you even though you know I did because I commented that week, and/or try to muscle me with threats of large “goombas” paying a visit. If you do any of that… then hold your breathe until you see yourself on the Smorgashboard again. While your doing that… go get a white hat and get yourself some Smurfberry Pie ‘cause you’ll be blue before you see it.
categories: Smorgashboard Sunday
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