Sip slow…

’cause I’m posting this today so tomorrow I don’t have to burn through my petty reserves responding to them goofy-ass “Happy Thanksgiving!” texts —

aka Trick-An-Indian Day,

aka The National Day of Historical Amnesia,

aka The Annual Celebration of “Let’s Pretend We Didn’t Do That.”

Before anybody gets bold, let me make this clear:

I’m Black Indigenous.

Black Indian.

Black Native.

Tsalagi Cherokee.

And Super Black with the extended warranty.

I’m basically a whole damn DNA dissertation —

the kind America loves to appropriate but refuses to acknowledge.

I’m built from the very people this country tried to wipe out, legislate out, assimilate out, and gaslight out of existence.

And you think I’m finna celebrate THAT holiday?

Nah.

Celebrating Thanksgiving would be like a Black man (ME) celebrating the Fourth of July —

another holiday built on bullshit, betrayal, and bold-face make-believe.

Just another chapter from the American Bullshit History Book.

If we gon’ “celebrate” history, then let’s celebrate the truth —

not the cartoon version where pilgrims show up cheesing like they didn’t kick off centuries of chaos…

and a generational body count.

⸻

PS:

Put me in a Thanksgiving group chat tomorrow…

I double-dog dare you.

I will respond so nasty

people will start sneaking out the chat like it’s a bad family reunion.

Somebody’s auntie will ask, “Who made him mad?”

You will quietly mute the thread for the rest of the year.

Your notifications will take a knee.

And Siri — bless her heart —

Siri gon’ whisper, “Baby… he told you not to do that.”

I swear on every ancestor with time today:

I will unleash a level of petty so advanced it’ll feel personal even if it wasn’t meant for you.

And you will regret it every November ’til the end of Wi-Fi.

Sip slowly… so you don’t get any backwash in your truth.