The holiday that nobody wants is here! - The Chaff with Scott Stephenson

Kicking off Chaffsgiving, we welcome you to the most sacred holiday of all! Gather ‘round a table of strangers - not friends, not family, but people you barely know, because Chaffsgiving isn’t about the familiar. It’s about leaning into the unknown. You haven’t lived until you’ve passed the racoon gravy to someone whose name you’re 80 per cent sure is Brian. Or maybe it’s Barry.

 

Now, let’s talk turkey - or something that might be turkey. On this day, the main course isn’t so much a bird as it is a mystery. Did it come from a farm? From the roadside? Who’s to say? And honestly, who cares? Fry it, roast it, or just throw it on the barbecue and hope for the best. If you’re lucky, it’s probably turkey. Got a skunk handy? Even better. That’s the real centrepiece. Fry that little guy up and let its unique aroma linger in the house for days, perhaps even weeks. 

 

Now, the real star of the Chaffsgiving feast is the stuffing. Yes, that’s right: the stuffing. It’s not just a side dish; it’s the main event. The goal? Eat enough stuffing that your pants start lobbying for elastic reform.

 

But Chaffsgiving isn’t just about gluttony. It’s also a time to express how deeply, inexplicably “Chaff-ful” you are for everything happening in the world. This is your opportunity to stand tall, look around at your table of near-strangers and share your gratitude for the underappreciated things in life. Be thankful for the little wonders and quirks that keep the world interesting. And don’t forget scurvy. Yes, it’s making a comeback, and for that, we should all be grateful. This is your chance to spread a bit of wholesome misinformation around the table. Did you know Canada was once the world leader in eating beavers? Well, now you do. Your facts don’t need to be accurate - they just need to sound convincing enough to get a few confused nods from your companions.

 

Now, as any true Chaffs-giver knows, there is one final, solemn ritual to complete: the sacrifice. What Chaffsgiving giveth, it must also taketh away. This is not a day of idle gratitude. No, this is a day when something must be given up. And not just anything - something important. Perhaps it’s your favourite toque, or your hope that winter won’t come early this year. Sacrifice is non-negotiable. What will you sacrifice?

 

As you prepare to bundle up and head out into the crisp autumn air, let’s take one last moment to toast this most sacred of days. May your Chaffsgiving feast be abundant, your stuffing never-ending, and your misinformation well-received. May you sit with strangers who, by the end of the meal, feel like distant cousins at the very least, and may your sacrifices be as bold as they are absurd.

 

As the remnants of your Chaffsgiving feast linger on your plate, there’s no time to waste before diving into another time-honoured tradition: Dark Heart Friday. This sick and twisted ritual takes place the Tuesday morning after Chaffsgiving. It’s when, full of stuffing and half-digested misinformation, we rise at the crack of dawn to chase the one thing we can still count on in these uncertain times: the cold, fleeting comfort of material goods.

 

In the grand tradition of Dark Heart Friday, you’re not just shopping. No, on this day, you’re purchasing purposefully. It’s not about what you need, or even what you want. It’s about filling that strange, gnawing void that’s been growing ever-larger as glaciers shrink, forests burn and every second headline reminds you that the planet’s slow demise is somehow still up for debate. It’s about distracting yourself from the dread of the world outside your window with something shiny, new and absolutely unnecessary.

 

The rules are simple. You must find the one item that promises, however briefly, to shield you from the weight of global calamity. Maybe it’s a television so big that you can’t see the world crumbling around you. For some, it’s a pair of noise-cancelling headphones, a necessary tool to drown out the howling winds of climate change and the ceaseless political shouting matches that follow you, even into your dreams and most-horrible nightmares.

 

But let’s not kid ourselves. Dark Heart Friday isn’t just about buying stuff. It’s about buying time. With every pointless gadget, every half-price piece of tech that will be obsolete in six months, you buy yourself a few more hours of blissful ignorance. You wrap yourself in the comforting delusion that, while the environment decays and governments flounder, you’re doing fine, because you got a toaster for 50 per cent off that browns both sides evenly.

 

So, rise early and head out into the fray. May you find a deal so distracting it carries you through until next Chaffsgiving. And as you clutch your overpriced, unnecessary goods, take solace in knowing that, for one fleeting moment, you’ve managed to consume your way out of existential dread. At least until the credit card bill arrives.