(PSSST *Grandma* Wonkette's Pineapple Orange Cranberry Sauce Is Better, Actually)

For years now -- seven at least, suckers -- we have been making Aunt Wonkette's Real Cranberry Business. It's great! (Needs more sugar. Not Oprah-level four damn cups, but one would be nice.) But last year, we did not do that. We wanted pineapple, which we almost always have on hand ever since your comrade Vegan & Peeara or whatever she is named these days told us while we visited her in Charleston that pineapples are symbols of hospitality.

So fuck it, we did it live!

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F*ck It, Let's Eat Pie: The Sarah Josepha Hale Story

As we near the dawn of, well, Trump not being president anymore, the big question on the minds of would-be pundits is "But what are we going to do about the division? America is divided! The only way things can get better is if we're not divided! Maybe a good idea would be to appoint Mitt Romney and John Kasich to key Cabinet positions? What if we all got matching flag pins? How about if we keep saying 'We all want the same things, we just have different ideas about how to get there?' over and over again?"

Well, there is nothing new under the sun, and no one demonstrates that better than Sara Josepha Hale, the lady who wrote "Mary Had a Little Lamb" and is also largely responsible for Thanksgiving being an official holiday.

While the first Thanksgiving did happen in Plymouth, Massachusetts, in 1691, they didn't actually call it that and it didn't become a national holiday until much, much later. It was celebrated regionally in various New England states like Massachusetts, but not really all over the country. Various presidents issued official days of thanks for various reasons, until Thomas Jefferson got all "Ooh, I don't know guys, seems like a violation of church and state to me" about things.

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Celebrate Randy Quaid Day With Crazy Wizard Video You Didn't Know You Needed

Everybody's favorite one-term president had a rough time on the toilet this morning, so he did what every thoroughly defeated wanna-be autocrat has always done in such a situation, he retweeted Randy Quaid about a billion times. The Rat King is very concerned that Republicans aren't listening to the soul of their party, a documented and highly powerful WIZARD:

Now you might remember Randy Quaid from his breakaway hit, Being Arrested In Vermont As A Felony Fugitive (2015, People Of Vermont), but he is actually most famous for being actor Dennis Quaid's older, wiser, more wizardy brother. Hahaha, just kidding, he is REALLY most famous for his sublime representation of Cousin Eddie in Christmas Vacation 2: Eddie's Island Adventure (2003, NBC), and also Cousin Eddie in Vegas Vacation (1997, Warner Brothers), Cousin Eddie in Vacation (1983, National Lampoon), and Cousin Eddie in Christmas Vacation 1: The One That Doesn't Suck (1989, Warner Brothers). He was also in a couple other things, playing a drunk ex-pilot version of Cousin Eddie in Independence Day (1996, FOX), and an Amish version of Cousin Eddie in Kingpin (1996, MGM). He also recently starred in a Wonkette Post, What Are Tinfoil Hatters Saying About Coronavirus.

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Emily Murphy To Let Joe Biden Have His Precious Transition If You're All Going To Be SO MEAN ABOUT IT

Can someone get General Services Administrator Emily Murphy a pacifier? And a blanket, and a bottle, and her favorite teddy, and maybe a pudding cup if she promises to stop whining so the country can get some work done?

Yesterday, the government official whose IRL job is to greenlight transition planning finally allowed the process to begin. A mere two weeks after Biden's victory became a mathematical certainty, and just shy of three weeks since the election itself, she's acceded to objective reality and "ascertained" that Biden is the apparent winner. And she did it in a breathtakingly self-indulgent letter in which she praised her own integrity while complaining mightily about having to do her damn job.

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The Trumps Bug Out

A happy fiction story for Christmastime!

Melania padded another setting of Dolley Madison china with carefully layered evening gowns. Not that she liked the pattern. Who was this Dolley Madison to make so many choices about the White House when she already has so many songs and Western wear? Melania looked toward Donald, on the phone again while peeking out the curtains to see his special balcony. This worry — it was cutting into his angry Tweeking. He wasn't even watching Hannity.

"Donald!" she cried in the voice she used for getting him to ask the nice men from Deutsche Bank to throw in a few evening gowns. "Which onnnnnne?"

Donald slammed the phone down on the stupid not-even-gold desk where he was supposed to sign his name on dumb old papers for his dumb old job. For some reason no one was picking up.

"I told you," he snapped, "They're fighting over me. We're going with whoever loves me best and wins getting to take care of me. Could be with Erdogan, could be with the prince guy. Could be any of them."

Melania whispered "Please not Russia please not Russia please not Russia" as she slid the silver into her satin gloves.

"Pack quicker," Donald snapped as he used his forearm to clear a mantle's worth of knick-knacks into a Hefty bag. Melania gave the finger to a holly wreath and began wrapping the Churchill bust in scarves.

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A Little Bit Of Christmas

For the Santa is real crowd.

An unsolicited submission from one among you that made me cry, and who wishes to remain anonymous.

My older daughter must have been seven or eight when she asked me to tell her the truth about Santa.

Truth is a dangerous thing as we all know. As Terry Pratchett says about the not-really-Santa of the Discworld:


"So we can believe the big ones?"


And lying was a thing I did not want to do. So I told her that I would provide the absolute truth about Santa on our annual trip to meet her Grandparents in New York.

Every year we would go to the outrageous Rockefeller Center Christmas Special that is all money and glitter and then live camels on stage for the real Jesus feeling at the end. I admit it was fun. We then went to one family play as well.

Yes, we are very lucky.

If you have gone to one of those plays then you know that at the end the ushers offer some of the letters sent to the New York Times but not chosen by the New York Times to support. I know that it is not intentionally cruel. But there are so many.

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Nice Time

Buy Nothing Today! Unless You Really Want To Buy This!

How your commie T-shirts are made.

Hey you guys wanna watch some long, inane, let's call them "meditative" videos, of my son pressing a shirt and burping, and me wrapping packages? YOU DO?????

You are funny. Click through, they are in a "thread"!

Rebecca, you are saying, why your factory is such a mess? Shut up, I explained!

And that brings us to your Black Friday/Buy Nothing Day post by me, showcasing items from our Wonkette Bazaar, that go to pay my son a frickin' hefty hourly rate — he's a nice boy, but even un-nice boys and nice and un-nice un-boys should earn a frickin' hefty hourly rate — and also subsidizes our Wonkette thingie, with the writers and the health care and the making of a living wage. Also the US Post Office! They get about $10,000 a year from me, on average, and I'm FUCKIN' PSYCHED to give it to them! I LOVE YOU POST OFFICE!

Except for Louis DeJoy, who will be gone soon and can eat my ass.

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