They started to talk about Clinton and the glass ceiling, but it wasn't long before everyone began to hear a growling emerge from my gullet.
"Trump. Trump. Trump."
Wide eyes and children's screams were prominent as the ritualistic chanting continued unimpeded.
"TRUMP. TRUMP. TRUMP."
As I latched onto the chandelier and hurled turkey about the room, I gazed penetratingly into the souls of each of my family members. They were all cucks. I soon asserted my dominance by pushing my feet through the ceiling, and allowed myself to be suspended by my lower limbs strength. Soon they would know my full power.
"TRUMP. TRUMP. TRUMP."
I no sooner lost my grasp on my position, and was quickly hurled by gravity to the surface of the table below me. Sides and accoutrements quickly found their way onto the surrounding walls of the room, and as I writhed in the mashed potatoes, people started to leave the room.
I'm fairly confident that people will now understand my feelings on the matter, and that these kinds of discussions will no longer take place during future holidays.