I HATE THANKSGIVING SO MUCH, it gives me a boner. It consumes me. Give me a good ol' holiday made up by card companies and candy stores any day. Thanksgiving was clearly invented by Paula Deen's cankles; nothing but yam-steamed rooms full of footballing Republican drunkles and inedible bowls of buttered goop. Dreadful! The only thing worse than Thanksgiving is the gross people who gleefully call it "Turkey Day," who should all be cordially tossed into the nearest volcano forthwith. (PELE APPRECIATES YOUR SACRIFICE! Please come again.) There are only two slightly redeemable things about the wretched day: (1) that turkeys everywhere finally get what's coming to them, the fucking bastards, and (2) that it ends. Inevitably. (All hail wise Pele!) But this year, we get at least something of a reprieve in two forms.
The first of these comes in the shape of Ben Delacreme and Kitten LaRue, et al., who give you Party Schmarty 2: Skanksgiving Edition. It is a pre-holiday event that's held in that spooky haunted-train-cum-Chinese-joint down in Sodo. To get a feel for it, they encourage you to "think cocktail hour in the dumpster," which isn't really that difficult if you try. (Delightful!) Kitten, Ben, and Lou Henry Hoover will entertain throughout the night, DJ Mathematix will spin for those inclined to dance, the drinks they've concocted sound ridiculous ("Don't even ASK what's in it!" they warn and are not kidding), and there shall be prizes for the skankiest ho. Now, it seems we've been spending a lot of time with Ben and the crew lately, and DAMN RIGHT WE ARE. They are burlesque-draggy-cabaret GODS. If they can't properly screw over Thanksgiving, it cannot be done. (Be sure to take tons of pictures for your fucking Republican drunkles.) Orient Express, 9 pm, $7, 21+.