The family has a rule of no provocative conversation during Thanksgiving dinner which, like the oven, works well to make the meal itself pleasant and warm. This agreement has the unintended consequences however, of making the after-dinner discourse even more coarse and insensitive than it would have been were there a meal to consider ruining.
After much deliberation, you've settled on a strategy to avoid engagement in the verbal battle royale.
"Well, tell me one fucking thing he's said that's racist," uncle Bob demands to the whole table. Finding no takers, he ex post facto directs the question to you.
You raise your finger towards your thoroughly opinionated family member and produce a pack of chewing gum from your pocket. You remove a piece and unwrap it, discarding the empty foil in a ball on the dining table.
"I just...this turkey -and it was great mom - gotta clean out the old teeth you know?" you claim feebly. You chew feverishly, as if the agent of your very salvation lay within the gum's artificial flavoring. It very well might.
With each new horrid inquiry you add a piece of gum.
"Well, if the gays can marry what's to stop pedophiles from doing the same thing?" New piece.
"What do you think about this Birth of A Nation remake? I have to say I much prefer the original." New piece.
"Well, are Jews people?" New pack.
Your strategy seems to be working, but with a tangerine-sized wad of chewing gum in your mouth, your jaw is exhausted and you're having difficulty breathing. Your heart begins to race and your vision goes blurry, then black. The last thing you hear before you lose consciousness is cousin Jay telling you that you just don't have the stomach to take the proper steps for the preservation of the race and securing a future for white children.
You wake up in the hospital three days later. No one is around except the nurse.
You made it. You believe you'll do this every year.