"I am so glad you asked how my Thanksgiving was."

See, normally I’d say, “It was fine, thanks.” Or, “It was great. How was yours?” But I really wouldn’t care how yours was, it’d just be something I’d say to be polite, just like your question to me.

Because how often does anything interesting happen on Thanksgiving? Except this year it did.

It started out innocently enough. Manny told us (me and some other guys) that he’d read on the internet about how to cook a turkey so that more of the tryptophan was psycho-actively available. So, like, we’d all get high from eating this bird, right?

But then Manny’s little sister heard him talking about it and she told her little friends that we were going to try to date-rape them by feeding them this tryptophan maxed-out turkey. You should know two things: Number 1, it is not true we were going to date-rape these girls, and; Number 2, these girls are, like, between 9 and 11-years-old. Actually, there’s a third thing you should know: Manny’s younger sister is one evil little chick. Manny is totally afraid of her. In fact, we all are.

And with good reason, as it turns out. See, all we wanted to do is scarf down some magic turkey and have a buzz on while we played GTA after dinner. But then the cops came to Manny’s house. You should’ve seen the look on Manny’s parents’ faces when the cops told them they were investigating a possible date-rape conspiracy.

And then, when Manny told the truth about trying to cook the turkey to max out the tryptophan, wow, from the look on her face I thought Manny’s mom was going to die of a broken heart. “So that’s why you wanted to cook the turkey! And here I thought you were finally becoming a responsible young man. I guess I should’ve known.” Geez, if I were Manny, I would’ve felt really guilty, but he says that after she pulls her dying-of-a-broken-heart act the first 500 or so times, you get used to it. I don’t know. He still looked pretty shook up to me.

At this point, it seemed to me the cops were trying to keep from busting out laughing. It was pretty clear to them that this was a bunch of teenage boys trying to catch a buzz off a turkey and one evil tween girl trying to get her brother in a lot of trouble. So the cops make to leave. But, no! Here Manny’s father gets in the act: “Take them to jail!” he says. “All of them! Lock ‘em up with the bums and perverts where they belong!”

Well, the cops try to explain they’ve got no reason to take us to jail, that intent to cook a turkey to max out the tryptophan is not a crime, and that even actually cooking the turkey to max out the tryptophan is probably not a crime as far as they know. But Manny’s dad isn’t hearing it. “Remove them from my sight! It doesn’t matter what they did or didn’t do—they disgust me!” Manny’s mom, as it turns out, has nothing on Manny’s dad in the drama department. I was starting to understand why Manny is such a screwed up kid and why he doesn’t have any friends other than us (and that’s only because we get picked on at school even more than he does).

So the cops feel bad for all us guys, and they wind up offering us all a ride home, except for Manny, who was already home. But him that felt worst of all for, so they took him, too, after I told them that it was probably cool for him to stay at my house.

So that’s how later we all ended up at that bar when it got robbed, because it’s the bar that all the cops go to, only I guess the guys that tried to rob it didn’t know that. The cops felt bad for us, and they were going off duty and they wanted a beer and I guess they didn’t see anything wrong taking us along with them.

In the end, I guess I’m glad I didn’t have any of that tryptophan maxed out turkey, because if I had, I might not have had enough snap to apply pressure to that old man’s carotid artery after all the shooting and stuff stopped. I don’t know that I’m a hero like they say. Really all I was thinking at first was that the old guy’s blood spurting all over was going to ruin my jacket and then I’d get in trouble with my mom, cause she just bought it. And I’d have to hear exactly how many hours she worked at her three different jobs to be able to afford that jacket. It was only after I squeezed the guy’s artery shut that I realized he was maybe going to bleed to death otherwise. So, sure, I did a good thing, but I’ll be the first to say that initially it wasn’t because I’m a hero or anything. It was on account of not wanting my new jacket to be all soaked with old man blood.

But anyway, how was your Thanksgiving?