While you’re sitting with relatives that you only pretend to like for the notion of what goodies you get after they die; shoveling roast beef and enduring the sulfuric farts of your kids after gorging themselves on deviled eggs, have no fear within your insipid, pastel-themed holiday. (Unless you’re from one of those big rectangle-shaped states.)
You could be one of those chumps out on the street. Grandma’s stale ham-mash doesn’t seem so bad now, does it?
YAY GOD.
