***"See, Jackawanna County? You said I could write whatever I wanted. You said you didn't care." "I also said it had to be factual," Jack whined, like a big baby. I made a mental note to remember "Jactual" as a future nickname. "Right. Mine's factual. Mine's got dickloads of facts." Jack started grinding his teeth, like a giant baby, but with man-sized teeth. "There is nothing factual about this," Jack shouted, slamming my piece down on my desk. I looked down at it for a second, admiring my work. "I'll be honest: I see nothing wrong with this."
"Really? You can't find a single thing wrong with this article? Really? You and Andrew Jackson, despite the fact that neither of you were present at the first Thanksgiving? Despite the fact that it's impossible for you two to ever meet? You can't find anything wrong with that?" I couldn't. I mean, gun to my head, I guess I could say that there wasn't enough nudity on the cover, but there's more than enough nudity in the comic itself to make up for that. "Why don't we dive right in, then," Jack said, "because the Prologue alone has enough historical inaccuracies and graphic descriptions of your genitals to get this comic banned in any self-respecting library."
"It goes on like that for a while, Dan. Do you know that you never once mentioned Pilgrims in this entire comic? You did 617 pages about the first Thanksgiving, and you didn't give Pilgrims even a passing acknowledgement. " "Well, to be fair, Boss, I wanted to stay as true to the real story as possible. Frankly, the pilgrims didn't play a big enough role in the original Thanksgiving. There really wasn't any room for them, with all the important stuff that I needed to cram in there." Jack started flipping pages. "Important stuff like this?"
"Uh, yeah, Boss. What could be more important than killing Robot Hitler? I'm beginning to think you know nothing about history." "Skipping ahead, you've got this bit about a bomb, in the White House." Jack peruses his notes. "Yeah here it is. 'Our heroes go to the White House and beat Robot Hilter at Mixed Martial Arts fighting, only to find out that there's also a bomb they need to disarm. Now, even though there's like six retarded things in that one sentence alone, I'm a little confused about this page:"
"This all seems pretty straightforward, Boss. Robot Hitler's heart was a bomb." "Right, I got that. Who the hell is the Snake Wizard?" "Oh, I was gonna introduce him in the Christmas Edition. Andrew Jackson and I met the Snake Wizard when we had to take down Bizarro Jesus in the Alternate Future...I guess I can understand how that might be confusing to a first-time reader, I'll be sure to footnote that or something. Thanks." "There's no need to footnote it, Dan, because there is 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
"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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