"Don't you want any turkey at all?" Boosie's mom asks her. "No," replies Boosie. "I will not betray my movement."
"What movement is that again?" her mom asks. "The Thanksgiving Is So Stupid movement," Boosie replies.
Boosie's mom makes an annoyed look at Boosie's dad. But Boosie's dad is too busy talking about tax reform with Boosie's uncle to notice.
"You're the stupid one," says Boosie's cousin, a fourth-grade boy the size of a pinball machine.
"Shut up," Boosie tells her lump of a cousin. "I'm an artist and you're not. So you are, in all actuality, the stupid one." Boosie's obese cousin shakes his head. "Whatever, stupid third-grader," he grumbles before shoving a spoonful of cranberry sauce into his gaping mouth.
"May I be excused," Boosie asks her mom. "I need to get back to my art." Before Boosie was summoned downstairs for the family Thanksgiving meal, she was hard at work on a portrait of a witch who works at the nearby Walgreens.
Boosie's mom glares lovingly at her daughter. "Pretty please," pleads Boosie. "If someone tries to get me to eat turkey one more time, I'm gonna go diarrhea in my pants."
A sucker for diarrhea references, Boosie's mom laughs. "Fine," she says. "But if your father scalds you later, there's nothing I can do about it."
Boosie looks at her dad. He's still super engrossed in his conversation about tax reform. So Boosie shrugs her shoulders, gets up from the table, kisses her mom on the cheek, then vanishes.
"Where's Boosie going?" asks Boosie's grandpa, a Holocaust survivor. "Well... she's protesting Thanksgiving," Boosie's mom explains.
"What? Why?" asks Boosie's grandpa. "She should be thankful she's surrounded by food such as this. There was a time, as you well know, when to eat a frozen turnip was considered a great treat." Boosie's mom rolls her eyes to herself. "Oh goodness," she sighs. "Oh gosh."
Happy Thanksgiving : (