A Very Ramsey Thanksgiving

Have you ever heard of the show Hell's Kitchen or Kitchen Nightmares?
Chef Ramsey is a badass and I love his work but I can't help daydreaming of a SNL, Thanksgiving special where he treats his family dinner like an episode of Kitchen Nightmares.
Enter, Chef Ramsey: It's biting cold outside and he pulls his collar up to protect himself from flurries of snow. Outside of his mother's house he turns around to face the camera and speaks.
"Well, let's see. Another town, the same shit."
He opens the door and is embraced by the warmth of firelight and a mess of friendly faces.
With a kindly salutation he immediately makes his way to the candle-lit dining table. No one else has sat down yet but he is demanding items from the 'menu' as though he were in a restaurant or cafe.
"Lessee. I would like equal parts light-meat and dark-meat. Mashed potatoes and gravy, and a slice of honeyed ham. I want a fresh roll with butter, and a scoop of fresh stuffing. Don't forget the sweet-potatoes. Thanks."
His mother is wringing her hands nervously in her apron and it is evident from her expression that she is at a loss for words. Her eyes shift back and forth but she finds no help from the family members that have crowded around the door to the kitchen to get a better view.
"Honey? Is this...?," a pleading look on her face.
"There's no problem is there?" Chef Ramsey shoots her an inquiring look, eye-brow arched.
"No. No problem dear. I... I'll be right back."
"Oh, and cranberry sauce, please. Thanks."
She gingerly navigates the pots, pans, and platters to construct his plate.
"You must be starved." She manages a weak smile; her eyes quest toward his in an effort to descry the meaning of his strange behavior but see only a stranger wearing her son's features.
Brandishing knife and fork, Ramsey takes a whack at the turkey. Dipping a tidbit of birdflesh into a pool of gravy he brings it to his mouth and begins to chew VERY slowly. His brow furrows as he tries to swallow what appears to have the attributes of a tennis-ball.
Pushing away from the table the chair he's sitting on makes the requisite dragging sound across the wooden floor and he moves mechanically to the counter and grabs a glass and a bottle of Pinot. After re-seating himself he pours himself an over-full glass of Pinot and quaffs it like a medieval serf after a long day of hard labor.
He slowly grabs his fork and makes an attempt at the stuffing.
Before you can say 'hurk' he's whipped the linen napkin from his collar, arched his back like a cat and begun to make gagging noises.
Staring at his mother in disbelief and only slightly concealed revulsion he stands up and wipes the corners of his mouth with his sleeve.
"I think I've had enough. You call this Thanksgiving dinner? I wouldn't feed this shit to a dog!"
She visibly shrinks before his ire and begins to splutter. "John! You've always loved Thanksgiving dinner here. What's the matter with you?!"
He's just finished downing another glass of Pinot and has begun rooting through the steaming pots and pans on the stove-top.
"The name's Ramsey. Chef Ramsey. What have we here?" Upon opening the fridge, he scowls and begins to take out unmarked containers. "How long has this been in the refrigerator? How long?"
"Uh, two days, I think?"
The onlooking family is nervously shuffling their feet and avoiding eye-contact with the strange man who appears to be dissecting their refrigerator.
"Disgusting! Utterly foul!" He reaches way back into the cooling unit and withdraws a Tupperware container. Peeling away the lid he sees an indecipherable lump of dessicated vegetable-matter and throws the little stink-package into the kitchen sink, gagging a bit.
This seems to call for another glass of wine and before you can say 'lush' it's been emptied.
"Thishas alll gotta go!" He stumbles around to the cupboard where the trash-bags are kept, not realizing that the upper cupboard is open and before you can say 'bam!' he's bonked his melon on said cupboard and is lying unconscious on his back in the middle of the kitchen floor.
His poor mother is fighting back tears of confusion and anger.
"Should we call the Police?," asks Ramsey's slightly balding, paunch-bellied cousin.
"He just hasn't been the same since he got his fame," mutters his niece.
"He probably just needs to sleep it off. He's been acting a bit strange since that 'nightmares' show. Lay him on his back so he doesn't choke on his own vomit..."