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I am thankful for the love and support of my family (especially chosen family!) and friends.

I may be liveblogging the Macy's Parade now, so if you read something you don't like, um, whatever. Be thankful you can read! Anyway, I will save as I go along so you can revel in my snark.

Don't get me wrong... I love this parade. Otherwise I wouldn't watch it. But I am a snarky creature at heart.

Is it totally weird that I think the new lead singer of Menudo will be totally hawt when he grows up? More importantly, do I care?

Stolen from Stori Lundi, As God is my witness, I thought turkeys could fly!

The Nutcracker Suite should not be played by marching bands.

Yesterday, a turkey in Hagerstown wanted donuts. Yes, a REAL turkey, not a redneck. And really, is that so much to ask? I'd like a donut myself.

The Cartoon Network float is making me clutch my head like a stunned monkey. It could be the idea that all these critters are someone's imaginary friend. I don't know anyone whose imaginary friend was so wrong.

OHNOES! A giant silver robot rabbit! Dude, I'm gonna have nightmares.

Ashley Tisdale is cute. I wonder if she's singing or lip synching. AND there's a giant rhino menacing her.

Why am I not drinking?

No, really, why am I not drinking?

I cannot possibly be the only person who noticed that the new "Healthy Mr. Potato Head" looks dangerously like Al Roker.

I wonder if those broomstick horses vibrate. That would explain why the cowboys are so happy.

Al Roker says, "blah blah blah [a whole bunch of] Eagle Scouts..." I say, "Eagle Scouts? Can any of them TIE FUCKING KNOTS?!?"

Hurray! Ponies! (Well, horses, actually).

Pikachu, I choose you!

If I ever hallucinate Mr. Peanut, I'm gonna scream. Loudly.

Wynona Judd looks tired. I am pretty sure she's lip synching... poorly. Even the spouse, who is not musically adept, commented about it.

It's Santa Claus! The man must be dying in that costume. It's 60°F out. He sure looks cheerful, though.

Gordon says we have to leave to go to Thanksgiving dinner, so I will not see the dog show. Waaah!

Ugh, my hair needs to be shampooed. Guess I will go do that.

The pundit breathed deeply of the air redolent with the fumes of petrol. "I am plagued by the penguins..." she moaned as she adjusted her chinstrap. "They come from the mist!!"

Then she faced the camera. "This is a script that they have written for years. Every Thanksgiving, Senate Democrats parade victims of various diseases or social concerns or poverty up before congressional committees and let them testify, and they were infallible. You couldn't criticize them. Same thing with the zombies after the fishnet… what the?"

At that moment, she heard the walls of the set crumbling as the zombies broke through. The floccinaucinihilipilification of her memories was not enough to devalue the experience of playing ARC. She knew. She knew with the schadenfreude that comes with killing the undead. If only she had remembered the butter!

"Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!" she cried, loading her shotgun.

The first zombie, who had been an autodidact in life, stopped, demanding an answer. "How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?"

"I don’t know that!" cried the pundit. "Questions like that cause anorgasmia! Now I'll never get any turkey!"

Blame theoclarke, anubis75, usha93, stormephront, baron_saturday, tygeressdenacht, moiramisu, and stori_lundi for this monstrosity.