Before we begin to delve into the folklore surrounding Thanksgiving, we should first establish the significance of the Pilgrims, prior to their arrival in Newfoundland and of course, the true reason for their imminent departure.
Those who would set sail were originally members of a puritan sect which deviated from that of the common national faith. Dubbed the “English Separatist Church”, they were known for looking too deeply into orthodox religious text, performing their own variations on biblical events throughout history.
One night, a few members of the sect became quite inebriated at the local tavern and set upon the notion of re-enacting the story of Sodom and Gomorrah. As you can imagine, local villagers were not amused when these drunken men of cloth started to burst down the doors of common households, administering eight, sometimes even nine inches of Puritan faith into cavities which are normally one exit only.
This had aroused contempt amongst orthodox religious movements, mainly due to there being no more virgin flesh available for standard sacrificial rites. As those who followed the English Separatist Church had indeed angered their Lord and Master, they fled home out of fear of persecution.
Following an evening of beer and debate, the separatists decided to leave the country in search of nubile young females (preferably large chested at that) so that they could return home and thusly, appease their aching fathers.
They set aground at Plymouth Rock on December 11, 1620 and despite initial optimism, their first winter was devastating. Weakened by the seven-week crossing and the need to establish housing, they came down with pneumonia and feverish consumption. Despite the deaths, many men clung onto their lives by tearing at the diseased limbs of deceased crew members, feasting upon one, maybe two to three bodies at a time.
When then finally arrived at the shore, matters went from grave to worse.
They dug holes to bury the remains at night, so that the Indians would not notice their numbers dwindling. At one point, there were only seven people able to fetch wood, make fires, and make love to the sick as the captain in command had become restless, often wandering off to fornicate with various woodland creatures. By spring, they had lost 46 of the original 102 who sailed aboard the Mayflower.
The Pilgrims obviously needed help and it came from an English-speaking member of the Wampanoag nation. This red-skinned native decided to stay with the Pilgrims for the next few months and teach them how to survive. He brought forth crack pipes, taught them how to mix hallucinogens with vegetables and of course, how to shave their genitals using a tomahawk. But of course, this is of little importance when compared to the majesty of the great feast.
The harvest of 1621 was a bountiful one, the bloodied remains of the deceased lay strewn across the table. The largest surviving crew member had an apple lodged between her jaws, her juicy arms and legs mangled to resemble that of a roast turkey. Before the feast, both the Pilgrims and the Natives took part in a ritualistic circle jerk, stuffing the strapped wench with their large pork swords and filling her with their collective seed.
There is much speculation about the events of Thanksgiving, some even refusing it to have any spiritual belief whatsoever but when one considers the humble natured Natives and their kindness towards their fellow man, one cannot help but be moved. Truly, it is with great certainty that on that night, the Lord watched over both Natives and Pilgrims with joy as they tore at the limbs of that cum drenched sacrifice.