This Thanksgiving, the Hernzog family all agreed their ratio of marshmallow to sweet potatoes in their “famous” sweet potato casserole had reached absurd levels.
The judgement came five minutes into Thanksgiving dinner when John Hernzog, father and head of the family, realized there were no potatoes left in the casserole and only a bowl of half melted, rather sad looking marshmallows.
As he looked down the table, he noticed that only Sandra, his wife of 22 years, had any sweet potatoes at all, and only two cubes at that. “Why this is absurb!” shouted John, an ex-Marine known for his short temper. “How the hell can you have a Thanksgiving without sweet potatoes?” he looked to the bowl, stuttering over his words as his cheeks turned the same hue as the cranberry sauce. “Who in the right mind- how in the world- who the- what that?” Sandra grabbed his arm, which always calmed the sexually impotent man. He took a breath.
Sandra looked to her three beautiful children, Charles, Daniel, and Scarlett. “Now, who was in charge of the potato casserole this year?” None of the children raised their hands, their eyes on their laps. John slammed his first on the table, rattling the porcelain dishes as much as the souls of the three small children.
“Either one of you is not finishing dinner, or all three of you are not finishing dinner. Your choice, kiddos,” said John. As quickly as they could, Charles and Daniel both pointed to their sweet-toothed sister that sat between them. “Scarlett, my lovely daughter, the light of my life, get your ass into the attic and don’t come out until the Black Friday deals are long past.”
“But, Daddy, Best Buy is selling flat screen TVs for half the price.”
“TO THE ATTIC!”
The seven year old ran out the dining room and, unfortunately, was never seen again.
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