Thanks for the new driver's license photo which might lead one to think that the organ donations it authorizes have already been made.
Thanks for the tendency to avoid looking for someone to fix it in favor of looking for someone to blame it on.
Thanks for all the graduation ceremonies with the theme, Go forth from here and join the unemployment line.
Thanks for how healthy gravy is.
Thanks for Pope Gregory XIII's thanksgiving celebration of the killing of religious dissenters — as many as 30,000 of them — in the St. Bartholomew's Day massacre in France in 1572.
Thanks to voters in Malvern and nearby for electing the local wizard of the John Wilkes Booth fan club to membership in the state legislature over a possibly sane guy.
Thanks for so many deer that they come into town and eat everybody's nandinas.
Thanks for the bedbug boogie-woogie.
Thanks for the track-and-field exploits of Tyson Homosexual.
Thanks for the telltale hesitancy that's involved now in either rendering or accepting neighborly roadside assistance.
Thanks for the hurling scene having become obligatory.
Thanks for all the know-it-alls, who'd be surprised.
Thanks for telecommunications advances that children who still have their baby teeth understand at least 10,000 times better than I do.
Thanks for signal contributions to grief therapy by the Westboro Baptists of Topeka, Kan.
Thanks to the U.S. Supreme Court for its Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission decision in January, which allowed big-money corporate interests to buy American elections, starting with the one earlier this month.
Thanks for the discourse shift — from Come, let us reason together to Go Cheney Yourself.
Thanks for the perv priests, and thanks especially for their enablers on up the totem pole.
Thanks for the story about young W. driving Momma to the hospital with the fetus in the slopjar. We needed that. Especially here and now as the giblets are being spooned over our bird.
Thanks for the 10 pounds of dust mites that have joined our household collection since last Thanksgiving.
Thanks for Hot Pockets and for their nationwide acceptance as holiday fare that's barely edible and only slightly preferable to a hacking cough.
Thanks for those who think they have to talk louder than Wiley Workman Sr. to be heard on their cells when they're in the process of ruining for everybody else the slow movement of a symphony, or a church service, or a funeral.
Thanks for memes.
Thanks for gravitas.
Thanks for the enhanced airport security searches that let them grope and scan places you didn't even know you had. That let them boldly go where no one (perhaps) has gone before.
Thanks for hunting and fishing having been made constitutional rights, along with frog-gigging and tipping cows if I'm not mistaken.
Thanks for all the desert beheadings.
Thanks for media narratives, or storylines.
Thanks for the Texas schoolbook regulators and their commitment to making each succeeding generation dumber than the one before.
Thanks for the U.S. Chamber of Commerce's demonstration of how it's possible for a special interest to screw us all with our own goober.
Thanks for all that Arizona is contributing to good will among men.
Thanks for an orange House speaker. I think speaker orangeness might be just what we need to right this listing ship.
Thanks for Saudi justice and our tacit agreement to keep quiet about it lest they cut off our oil. Or one of our limbs. Or digits. Or appendages.
Thanks for all the fracking fracking.
Thanks for all the Hitler specter raising, without which we would've surely forgotten by now that he was not a worthy role model. And ugly too. And crazy. And missing a nad.
Thanks for all the terror babies.
Thanks for the War on Christmas by all the Happy Holidays and Season's Greetings Jesus-Haters.
Thanks for the papal bull (so to speak) on condoms.
Thanks for the Midland school board guy who said he'd celebrate diversity the day after all fags commit suicide.
Thanks for the Texas congressman and others who thought we should apologize to BP because our first reaction to their oil spill was not particularly favorable.
Thanks for Mr. and Mrs. Justice Thomas and all that they've meant.
Thanks for the Seven Wonders that are going to change my life — yours too! — from the new book of that name by Glenn Beck and Keith Ablow.
Thanks for Louis Gohmert, who beats everything.