Our Thanksgiving op-eds have been coated in butter and dunked in a barrel of boiling oil. Now our house is on fire. But nothing, nothing will convince us otherwise. So pass the alcoholic gravy — here are our deep-fried holiday takes.
You wobble above your Thanksgiving spread, sweat snaking down your forehead, seconds already lining your stomach. Your eyes dart nervously from stuffing to gravy to pumpkin pie, and you think to yourself, “Do I dare?”
Over the course of this meal, your toes have been eclipsed by your swelling abdomen. Mashed potatoes have begun ascending your esophagus. Hunger has been replaced by a depraved obligation to ingest. Surely, another plate will leave you bloated beyond belief.
To continue eating, or not to continue eating? A classic Thanksgiving conundrum. My advice? Fuck yeah. Pursue the bloat, because being bloated is a state similar to nirvana. Before you call me crazy — look, I already know — hear me out as I describe the oft-ignored benefits of being outrageously swollen.
It Forces a Respite
If there were ever a time to collapse on the couch, it would be Thanksgiving 2020, during which our leaders continue to lower the already hopelessly low bar and COVID spreads like gossip in a high school locker room. However, many of us, conditioned by constant social-media onslaughts and an always-on work culture, have a hard time pumping the brakes. But when you have a tummy so full that you can barely grunt, curling up and allowing yourself to breathe is the only way forward — and you deserve it.
It’s Peak Emergency Preparedness
We all saw what happened when COVID first touched down in America: People went out and panic-bought everything, leaving a whole lot of shelves frighteningly empty. We had a fucking meat shortage, folks! Grocery stores went to shit for a couple weeks there. If something similar happens, a bloated belly could be the key that pulls you through. Animals eat beyond the point of fullness all the time, because they know that every meal counts, and your next one is never guaranteed. When you think about it that way, achieving a bloat is just plain smart.
Not only in a sexual way, but also as a lifestyle. Think about the bloated Bacchus painted by Baroque painter Peter Paul Rubens: He sits his phat ass on a wine barrel as if on a throne, one leg rested on a literal tiger. A dame fills his chalice while revealing a single big natural. A satyr slugs sauce in the background, and a chubby cherub openly releases a stream of pee nearby. This is the bloated life, and I’m blushing just thinking about joining in.
So to answer that question you were asking yourself while staring at the remnants of your Thanksgiving feast, yes, you do dare. Enjoy your bloat.