no way this comic book is ever going to run anywhere. I mean, did you do any
actual research for this article? At all? Historical butchery aside, you've also got this convoluted subplot about Santa Claus inventing AIDs." I nodded severely. AIDs was no laughing matter.
Jack massaged his temples. " Dan, I don't even know what particular group is even
supposed to be offended by that, but I guarantee you that, whoever it is, they
will shut us down for it." "I'm willing to make sacrifices for my art. If you need to get fired, or even kicked around for a little while, I am more than willing to let that happen." Ignoring me, Jack kept flipping through the comic. He found something that appealed to him. Or, possibly, outraged him. I was never good at deciphering someone else's emotions. "Here, you've got about 26 pages of you and President Jackson double-teaming Pocahontas, and that just won't do, Dan, it simply won't. I've let a whole lot of your crap slide in the past, but I draw the line at you and a former President "Eiffel-Towering" an Indian Princess." What an oddly specific place to draw a line. "Some things are off limits, and Pocahontas is one of those things." "More like
Poke-ahontas, am I right, Guy?" Jack slammed his fist down onto my desk. "They sound
exactly the same. That's not a joke that works in a spoken conversation,
god dammit." "Okay, you're clearly mad about something, so I'm just going to give you some time to relax and calm down. Maybe when you publish that comic, you'll feel a little better." "Dan, I'm not publishing this. Aside from a bit in the prologue about smallpox and this awful Pocahontas Sex Interlude, you never discuss the Indians, you barely mention turkey, and, if you consult a history textbook, I think you'll find that the first Thanksgiving was between the Pilgrims and Indians, (not you and a dead president), involved turkey, (not Guinness), and happened out in the woods somewhere, (not a Hooters in New Jersey)."
"I'm sorry, but I can't publish this. And I guess I'm not really that sorry, actually." "Jack, if I could just plead my case one last time," I said, unzipping my pants. But he was already gone...
***
And
that, Dear Readers, is the story of the First Graphic R-Rated Story of the First Thanksgiving Story. Because of Jack's fear of new and exciting ideas, the
actual comic will never see the light of day. (And isn't
that the kind of close-minded thinking that inspired the Pilgrims to leave England in the first place? I'm honestly asking.) Instead, you get these samples, and you have to just trust me that the rest of it was
even more incredible. That's a promise, folks. An oath that I swear upon the bones of Pocahontas that I have stored in my pantry. (I bought them years ago, planning to use them in an extremely elaborate practical joke that didn't quite pan out.) Perhaps someday this comic
will make it to the stands and perhaps, on that day, families will come together to read and enjoy it.
Together. They'll be so
thankful that they got to read it, perhaps they'll even share a meal to celebrate.
That's the kind of world I want to live in. Until then, I guess there's truly nothing in this world that's worth being thankful for. That's the truth. Anyway, Happy
Katanakka everybody.
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