Christ.  Please tell me this is something from Best of Craigslist, 
and not your real life.  

--- In [email protected], Eleanor Keyser 
<[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote:
>
> My family is lazy and loves fried Turkey.  So we ordered a Cajun 
Fried Turkey dinner from Eatzi's for Thanksgiving.  A few days ago 
they call us, polite and efficient, to confirm the order and let us 
know the delivery fee.
> 
> Yesterday I came home to a voicemail.  It was Elliot, from 
Eatzi's.  Elliot wanted to let us know that Eatzi's would be unable 
to fulfill our Thanksgiving order as the store was closing it's 
doors and going out of business as of TOMORROW (that would be today 
now).  Of course I immediately thought "Buh?  WTF dude?  Are you 
some crazy ex-employee looking for payback?"  I call Eatzi's.  
> 
> No answer.  
> 
> I click the website.  
> 
> All links off the homepage had been removed.  
> 
> Finally I get through to an Eatzi's manager who tells me the 
employees were just told about this that morning.  Apparently, the 
Eatzi's chain executives went all 99.1 HFS on their asses.  All but 
one Eatzi's across the country were closed, and the corporate office 
did not return press calls.  WTF EATZI'S?  W T F?!?!?!?  YOU WANNA 
CANCEL CHRISTMAS NEXT????
> 
> You all should know that I loathe Thanksgiving more than I loathe 
all of the other loathsome days of my life combined.  Every single 
one is like having Martha Stewart, on crack, use my skin as the 
surface of her latest needlepoint sampler. And now I cannot even 
drown my sorrows in fried Cajun Turkey.  I fucking hate you 
Eatzi's.  I really, really do.
> 
> PS.  I have a feeling this Thanksgiving may be the worst one since 
the first post-divorce nuclear melt down, which played a little 
something like this:  Act I:  Five hour car ride from Mom's to 
Dad's.  Act II:  Dad throws frozen turkey into the street at Mom, 
who burns rubber back to her lonely singleton Thanksgiving.  The 
turkey skids into the gutter where it sits moldering for days.  (I 
never did find out how long it sat there.)  Act III:  Thanksgiving 
at the local Jack in the Box--but not in the warm, posh inside of 
the "restaurant," oh no.  It was drive-through for us.  They get 
awfully snobby about grown men crying and chain smoking inside of 
those places.  Bloody righteous prats.
> 
> Oh, by the way, the second worst Thanksgiving involved Tofurkey, 
and that's all you need to know about that one.
> 
>  
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