‘Twas The Night Before Thanksgiving: A Poem About Black Wednesday


‘Twas the night before Thanksgiving, when all through the town,
All your friends are pregaming, gettin’ down to clown;
Product is applied to your hair with care,
In hopes that your ex would soon be there;

Your parents are nestled all snug in their beds,
With visions of Thanksgiving dancing in their heads;
But your buddy in an Oxford, and you in your sweater,
About to crush the bar with chicks all the wetter;

When out in the driveway, there arose such a noise,
Your designated driver, waiting with poise;
Away to the driveway you fly in a flash,
Tearing open your front door, making sure you have cash;

Arriving to the bar through the new-fallen snow,
Ke$ha blasting, “This place about to blow.”
When what to your wondering eyes did appear,
Your ex and her friends, all ordering some beer;

With your bro squad in tact, so lively and quick,
With your hair so perfect, so luscious, so thick;
More rapid than eagles, you flock to the dames,
Grabbing the perfect table for drinking games;

“Hey! How ya been?” she asked with delight,
From this point forward, it’s on for the night;
Now, vodka! now, tequila! now, beer and whiskey!
You can feel it in your loins, it’s about to get frisky.

To the dancefloor you go, swagger straight stupid,
About to take a shot through her heart like a senior year cupid;
You’re vibing like old times, your spirits are high,
All of your friends can see the old sparks fly;

Off the dancefloor, you and your friends cruise,
With a belly full of beer, a table full of booze;
“Again this year?” your friend excitedly asks,
“Not opposed!” you reply, as you sip from your flask;

And then mid-frat lap, the bar you surround,
A crew of out-of-town dudes come a bound;
Dressed in Burberry, their heads to their toes,
“Get a load of these nerds,” your buddy goes;

But then you see, in the back, giving it a whirl,
One of those nerds spitting game at your girl;
Her eyes—how they twinkled! She’s laughing—”Oh, fuck.”
But this dude’s hair is so thin, he’s run out of luck;

She can’t actually like this guy, he looks like a bore,
Just because there’s a goalie doesn’t mean you can’t score;
You approach the situation, about to lay it on thick,
She looks so relieved to get away from this dick;

“Heading out soon, you coming with me?”
Hitting this dude from the blindside, ne’er did he see;
A wink of your eye and a twist of your head,
Visions of her in your high school bed;

The dude speaks not a word, you ruined his work,
His chances are done, we’re through with this jerk;
You hop in the car, she’s cold in her blouse,
You offer your jacket, you’re close to your house;

Drunkenly thinking how you’ll explain to your mother,
Why your ex is in bed, under her duvet cover;
Fuck it, it’s innocent, you’ve been here before,
Otherwise your night would just be a bore;

So year after year, you keep on reliving,
That night in your hometown, before Thanksgiving.

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Will deFries (Twitter / Instagram) is a Senior Writer at Grandex and the world's foremost authority on Sunday Scaries (Twitter / Instagram). Email me at

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