The tale of Thanksgiving. It's that time of year, so raise a cheer, here's to drinking beer and shooting deer. Here's to friends who are sincere and friends who will endear. When others appear we give them a leer, but not so severe that they leave out of fear. We send pioneers to explore the frontier, and they return bearing a spear as a souvenir, taken from those who'd dare interfere. For we are the ones who domineer this northern hemisphere, and their land is ours to commandeer. So we send buccaneers to make them disappear, for we are austere only in veneer. Rather than cohere with these people we should revere, we choose to be insincere, and to besmear. When these people of yesteryear tire of us being cavalier, they shall reappear at our belvedere, decked out to the nines like a musketeer, and protest how they do detest our choice to be a racketeer, and demand that we give them their arrears. And when they shed a tear, they think we will lend an ear, knowing not the ways of a profiteer. Now let me be clear, that if this makes you feel queer, then we'll all sneer and have a jeer that you, my friend, like it in the rear. I'm not a seer, but I will take a peer, into the future of all of you here, and though the image is blear, I can see that you all will have success in your career. To my friends, I ask of you, if this eve you choose to drink, please try to adhere to keep it mere, for I'd hate to see you forget how to steer, and have your car start to veer, and go straight off the edge of a sheer. And so with that, I wish all of you a Goodyear. Happy Indian Slaughter Day.