Dear Mom,

For shit’s sake, stop calling the bowl of  fuck-all whatever you make on Thanksgiving stuffing, because it is not stuffing.  You know why it’s not stuffing, Mom?  Because stuffing goes in the fucking turkey.  Does that bowl look like it’s in the turkey to you?  No, it doesn’t.

What do you even put in “stuffing” anyways?  It doesn’t look like anything more than a pile of mixed brown shit leftover in the fridge from 2 months ago.  Are you trying to kill me with your bullshit food concoctions?

You don’t even try to stuff this cornucopia of leftovers in anything either, you lazy bitch.  I can’t stuff shit when you cut the fucking turkey.  What are you trying to pull here?

We already talked about the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus not being real.  I’m 19 now.  Can we please just acknowledge that whatever the fuck you put into that bowl isn’t stuffing?

Furthermore, what the fuck is cranberry sauce supposed to be?  You can’t put a tube of horribly flavored jello on the table and call it sauce.  You know what is sauce?  Ketchup is sauce.  It has sugar and tomatoes and it is delicious.  Cranberry jello is not a sauce.

Do you understand the concept of hors d’oeuvres, you fucking ingrate?  I can’t eat a huge Thanksgiving meal if you stuff my face full of mini hot dogs like a Japanese porn star.  Fat slut.

This is why I can’t bring a girlfriend to Thanksgiving dinner.

Love You,

Ryan

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