I was imagining a Thanksgiving dinner with invitations sent to all of our website commentators, but decided against it. It isn’t just the Whidbey News-Times. People who comment on stories all over the web are often rude, to say the least, and suspicious of the motives of those who printed the story. Many people with no axe to grind don’t even bother reading the comments because they’re so impolite. Still, I can’t help but imagine how Thanksgiving would go with such a crabby bunch of people.
“Thank you all for coming tonight for this fine feast prepared to give thanks to the creator.”
“Thanks for coming? I wasted three hours to get here because I couldn’t find your crummy little house. I finally looked up its pictures on the assessor’s website and found this little tree house of yours.”
“We prefer to call it a humble abode situated amongst the trees, and we feel fortunate to have it. Perhaps next year we can go to your house for Thanksgiving.”
“In a pig’s eye. I wouldn’t want a jalopy like yours within a mile of my house. What would the neighbors think?”
“Well then, we’ll get down to it and say a prayer before our feast begins.”
“A prayer? To whom, may I ask? You wrote some nice things about Obama, our Kenyan president. Shall we pray to Allah?”
“Maybe a moment of silence would be best. Then we’ll eat.”
“I see you have turkey. That’s about as original as your columns. I usually like the wings, but I’m sure this turkey has two left wings.”
“Actually, the turkey is middle-of-the-road, with a left wing and a right wing. But if you prefer, you may have a drumstick.”
“Darned right I’ll take a drumstick. I’ll drum “Yankee Doddle Dandy” with it and drive all you lefties out of the house.”
“Well, if you want us to leave, we could go to the Community Thanksgiving Dinner in Oak Harbor or Coupeville. They’re free.”
“I figured you’d support those socialist free dinners, where the hungry get to eat despite their laziness. Why feed parasites who feed of the soft-hearted in the community? Give a man a Thanksgiving dinner and he’ll be hungry tomorrow. Teach him to kill a turkey and he’ll never go hungry again. There’s plenty of turkeys running along Highway 20.”
“Maybe it would be best if we all sit down now.”
“Pass the potatoes. If you haven’t noticed, I’m sitting on your right. And some of that gravy which, I must admit, smells wonderful simmering on your Chinese-made stove. It wouldn’t surprise me of your potatoes are foreign as well.”
“No, but the tomatoes in the salad are grown in Canada, and the lettuce comes from California where it might well have been picked by illegal immigrants.”
“I’ll pass on your anti-American salad,” thanks. “In fact, I’ll pass on everything prepared by you left-wingnuts. Goodbye, and thanks for nothing.”
“Before you leave, didn’t I notice you drive up in a new Honda Tundra? It’s a fine looking pickup, but wasn’t it made in Japan?”
“Look, what’s best for my bank account is what’s best for America. It’s the American way. I’ll pick up some Chinese food on my way home.”
In actuality, the dinner wouldn’t go this way at all. All of the guests would make delightful company. It’s just that the internet, for some reason, brings out the worst in many people.
