Read I Drink for a Reason for Free Online Page A

reason is twofold: one, because it points out in a personified way
     just how sexually repressed we are as a culture, and two, because it points out in a physical way just how uncreative and
     easily amused we are as a culture. As for the first part, come on, we’ve all seen the idea of “sexy” * applied to a number of Halloween costumes that border on the disconcerting. It’s one thing for Pam in Accounts Receivable
     to get liquored up and wear a “sexy” (for the remainder of this piece, please imagine all uses of the word
sexy
to be in quotation marks—I don’t want to keep doing that as it will soon turn distracting) cat outfit or nurse outfit or
     cheerleader ensemble or whatever classic (Harem concubine!) sexy Halloween outfit has become the safe “go-to” outfit for the
     masses. But these usually have the opposite effect on me (not that anyone’s wearing them with “catching me” in mind). I find
     myself more turned on by the girl who dresses as a sexy hobo. That’s weird! And who wouldn’t want to fuck a hobo? How about
     a sexy pigeon costume? Or an erotic AIDS patient?
    The other thing I, on a more specific and personal level, don’t like about Halloween is that it’s got a real “amateur hour”
     vibe to it for me. Excusing the irony, I wouldn’t get on a soapbox and lecture about this, but I just feel like I do this
     sort of thing all the time because of my line of work. So donning a wig and beard and period outfit is no big deal. I can’t
     share in your giddy enthusiasm about your Gandalf thingy. I imagine it must be similar to how alcoholics feel on New Year’s.
     “Amateur hour,” they think as they pass out in their puke. “I do this almost every day.” Or maybe it’s similar to how the
     rich treat Christmas—with a sense of the distinctiveness surrounding the day, but really, it’s not that special. “What? Taking
     a vacation and opening up presents? I do that virtually every day. I’m not trying to be a dick, but… I’m rich. Think about
     it.” Or maybe a better example is how the mentally ill must feel on Ash Wednesday. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, you put strange markings
     on your face because an invisible man told you to.” Surely someone
must
spend Ash Wednesday thinking to themselves, “I feel like a fucking idiot.” What is this, the fucking Dark Ages?
THANKSGIVING
    There’s a bit of cognitive dissonance involved with this holiday as you get older. You are celebrating sustenance and family
     and a vague attachment to the founding of this country, which seems to lose its glory with each bit of information about how
     we really got this land that sneaks its way through the fairy-tale police. Thanksgiving is not an easy day to celebrate because
     of this. On the one hand you have the simple, universally relatable theme of taking one day out of your busy, increasingly
     impersonal life to appreciate and be thankful for what you have * and on the other you have the shameful actions of a bunch of elitist racists who thought nothing of killing savages in preemptive
     actions because they weren’t “civilized” (and they had all the corn). And we all know how that worked for the people who lived
     here already. If they weren’t being killed and having their land stolen from them, they were being tricked into keeping warm
     under a blanket knowingly infested with smallpox that a generous federal agent donated to them. Of course, years later they
     got us back by rigging their slot machines to play extra tight, but what are you gonna do? At least they can get a family
     of five hammered on half a case of Milwaukee’s Best, and that’s nothing to drunkenly sneeze at and then wipe the snot on the
     sleeve of your filthy Wisconsin Badgers sweatshirt you got from Goodwill. That’s a
huge
savings over the years! But I do enjoy the story about them teaching us how to make popcorn. Obviously this was before we
     slaughtered them. I wonder if that was the first time popcorn