The Real First Thanksgiving
It all started in 1621 when the Pilgrims, fresh off a grueling winter, were teetering on the brink of extinction because they didn’t know how to handle basic survival. Enter the Wampanoag, kind and generous, ready to teach these buckle-shoed amateurs the ways of the New World. But the Wampanoag didn’t come alone—they brought their dear forest-dwelling friend, Bigfoot, known to them as the “Hairy Man of the Forest.”
The Thanksgiving Invitation (and the Shade)
When the Pilgrims decided to host a feast to celebrate their survival, they invited the Wampanoag, but with one caveat: “Don’t invite Bigfoot.” The Wampanoag, side-eyeing this audacity, thought, Wow, trifling much? So, of course, they invited Bigfoot anyway.
When the big day came, Bigfoot arrived dramatically late, carrying a whole deer on his shoulder like a woodland VIP. His grand entrance made everyone freeze. He placed the deer on the table with a thud, looked around, and growled, “Oh, so I’m not invited? Funny, because I remember teaching you people how to not die.” The tension was thicker than the gravy.
The Dinner Drama
The feast began, but Bigfoot’s awkward energy lingered. As the Pilgrims gnawed on turkey legs, Bigfoot couldn’t resist bringing up his snub. “You know,” he said loudly, “it’s funny how you all can’t even boil water without help, yet I’m the one who stinks too much to be invited.”
Finally, after one too many side-eyes, Bigfoot had enough. He whipped out his massive mallet—a relic from his days of competitive forest-lumberjacking—and smashed the table into splinters. “Let me tell you something—you don’t exactly smell like roses yourselves. What’s that, wet wool and despair? And those shoes—y’all think I’m the one who looks ridiculous?”
As turkey and cranberry sauce flew everywhere, Bigfoot stood among the wreckage. “Stick a fork in me,” he said, “because I am D-U-N, done, with you Europeans.” He stormed off into the woods, never to work with humans again. The Sasquatch community and Americans have held a grudge ever since.
The Great Cover-Up
The Pilgrims, red-faced and furious, decided right then and there to erase Bigfoot from history. “No one will ever believe in that smelly forest man,” they declared. They made a pact that if a government ever formed in the New World, it would deny Bigfoot’s existence entirely. A proclamation was drafted: “From this day forward, the Hair Man of the Forest shall be deemed a myth, a legend, a tall tale told by fools.”
And so, Thanksgiving became a celebration of gratitude, conveniently stripped of its most colorful guest. Meanwhile, Bigfoot retreated deep into the woods, where he remains a reluctant legend, waiting for the day when humanity will finally say, “Sorry about that whole dinner thing.”
But until then, every Thanksgiving meal carries a little hint of his legacy: the awkward moments, the unspoken tensions, and that one guest you wish you hadn’t snubbed.
