I’m sure all of you know the pilgrim story: the Mayflower, Plymouth Rock, Leptospirosis, exploitation of an indigenous people. You know, the usual. So, I’m not going to waste my time explaining the details that you all learned in fourth grade, and instead addressing the real problem that America faces today in celebrating Thanksgiving: You.

The meaning of Thanksgiving has been lost among the Parades of Macy’s and boneless filleted turkey breast. You will not find Thanksgiving in your grandmother’s poorly-mashed mashed potatoes. You will not find it in your aunt’s weak and runny gravy. Back in the glory days of this celebration, Thanksgiving was about shootin’ turkeys from 500 meters out. It was about fighting with your twelve siblings for a measly serving of corn, bread or cornbread. It was about yelling at your cousin Mary to stop tending the fields and conform to socially-accepted gender roles.

A pilgrim Thanksgiving is the only true Thanksgiving. There’s nothing like shoveling manure to prevent the spread of smallpox, digging up graves for pottery and dishware or imprisoning those savages to force them to teach you how to plant crops.

Thanksgiving is not the time for all people to come together in collective appreciation. Instead we should shut ourselves in and pig out, while others go hungry. Otherwise people should celebrate by visiting their nearest supermarket, where workers conveniently have no family to be with during the season.