In the United States, the citizens celebrate a holiday called "Thanksgiving."

I understand they stuff themselves on dead bird and...stuffing, giving thanks for the millions of Native Americans who are now passed - the only ones left drinking too much wine in trailer parks - so that they can live there now. Or something like that?

They take a four-day weekend, while we Venezuelans work the full week to sustain their imperialist capitalist policies. They sit in easy chairs and watch bad American football games featuring the Detroit Lions. We slave away in front of hand-me-down IBM terminals.

So: In revenge for my Venezuelan countrymen, I decided to commemorate this gringo holiday as best I could on a tropical island off the coast of my beloved petroleum-filled homeland. Books tell me there is a place called "The Mid West" in the United States and that it is very cold.

I hope the imperialists in "The Mid West" view these photographs, and that it fills their hearts with sadness and longing.




Gaze on that water, Mid West-erner. Does it not look warm and inviting and refreshing? In the distance, there you see Isla Dickie.








Ahoy there, fellow countrymen.





Behold, Isla Dickie awaits.





In the distance, my people wait to greet you, Mid West-erner. Too bad you're stuck shoveling the horrific white fluffy stuff off your sedans.





I understand you are very religious. The one friggin' building on Isla Dickie, you will see, is a friggin' church. 'Couldn't even build a decent restroom - just a couple of holes in the ground - but no, we're there for all your spiritual needs. Just hold it until you get back to the mainland. ...or go take a swim.





For the last year, I have pursued a Master's Degree in Journalism, to expose the imperialists for the greedy capitalist pigs they are.

...

My countryman Gerardo has mercifully agreed to give me a job steering the launch, when he goes back to the DC SHOE CO USA in a few weeks. (Gracias, Gerardo.)





Farewell, Isla Dickie.





The Valentina, our trusty launch, named for the three-year-old owner who holds the title to the boat.







Chavez in '06. Libertad, justicia and patria.





If my launch-steering gig doesn't work out, I can always fall back on selling worthless crap on the side of a dirt road. Some may say that I'm a dreamer.





My country is very...green.





You will find it has lots of...trees.





And natural wonders...





Fine gourmet eateries, to entice the tastebuds...





And an extensive duty-free catalog along interstate boundaries. (In fact, if the selling of worthless crap on a dirt road falls through...)


That last one's actually pretty sad, and telling. There are a lot of desperate people in this pla- er, "my country." They come out of the woodwork to make a living, wherever the opportunity. Tolls are ridiculously cheap here, too - about a dime per booth. 'Makes you wonder what the point is, except to give people a chance to sell lizard toys on sticks to the stopped cars.


Anyways, happy Thanksgiving, fuckers. See? I didn't miss out on a goddamn thing. Djankee go jom!