Your uncle Gabe manning the grill reminded you of the Thanksgiving Day incident:
You were standing around in a group discussing seasonal things typical of your family: your aunt Tina was commenting on how well things seem to be going that year. “There hasn’t been one stabbing yet,” she exclaimed. Then she showed everyone how well the bayonet wound in her face was healing.
Your cousin Billy burst through the door and announced that your uncle Gabe (the volunteer firefighter) had accidentally set his face on fire.
“How did that happen?” your aunt yelled.
“I don’t know,” your cousin responded. “It just burst into flames like the Hindenburg. One minute he was just standing there telling us about how he’s a volunteer firefighter, the next minute he’s burning like he’s full of hydrogen.”
“Did anyone put him out?” your aunt demanded.
“We tried. He just yelled, ‘don’t worry, I’ve got this, I’m a volunteer firefighter.’” Then he ran into the barn and shoved his face into a big pile of hay.
“And that put the fire out?”
“No,” your cousin answered. “Also, the barn’s on fire now.”
As luck would have it, as your uncle (the volunteer firefighter) was running from the barn after setting it on fire, he tripped and fell face first into a pile of cow manure, extinguishing the fire on his face.
“Amazing,” you commented, “normally the bullshit is coming out of his face, not going into it.”
Your family stared at you with a level of hatred that was more intense than normal.
“Relax,” you told them. “At least it wasn’t a stabbing.”
Moments later one of them stabbed you.
Your Uncle (the volunteer firefighter) suffered some second degree burns on his head and got a nasty infection from shoving his face in a pile of cow crap.
The barn burned down completely.
But you barely needed any stitches at all for your stab wound.
All in all, good family Thanksgiving.