It's a ritual sacrifice, with pie.

Pangs

Willow: What a load of horse hooey.
Buffy: We have a counterpoint?
Willow: Yeah. Thanksgiving isn't about blending of two cultures. It's about one culture wiping out another. And then they make animated specials about the part where, with the maize and the big, big belt buckles. They don't show you the next scene, where all the bison die and Squanto takes a musket ball in the stomach.

Anya on Thanksgiving: I love a ritual sacrifice.
Buffy: It's not really a one of those.
Anya: To commemorate a past event, you kill and eat an animal. It's a ritual sacrifice, with pie.

Anya: What's she doing? Xander said he was going to dig. I want to see Xander dig.
Buffy: That's part's just ceremonial.
Anya: Well, it bites. She's not rippling at all. Oh. Look, there he goes. (Xander digs.) Look at him.
Willow: Very diggy.
Anya: Soon he'll be sweating. I'm imagining having sex with him again.
Buffy: Imaginary Xander is quite the machine.

Willow: Buffy, earlier you agreed with me about Thanksgiving. It's a sham. It's all about death.
Buffy: It is a sham, but it's a sham with yams. It's a yam sham.
Willow: You're not gonna jokey-rhyme your way out of this one.

Anya: I inflicted a lot of putrefying diseases on men when I was an avenging demon, and you look like you're getting all of them.
Xander: Okay. I'll stay. But you should go. You could catch it.
Anya: We'll die together. It's romantic. Let me get your trousers off.
Xander: You're a strange girlfriend.
Anya: I'm a girlfriend?
Xander: Uh...There's a chance I'm delirious.
Anya: Ah, yes. Well, whatever it is that's making you sick, so far I like it.

Willow: The coroner's office said she was missing an ear. So I'm thinking, maybe we're looking for a witch. There's some great spells that work much better with an ear in the mix.
Buffy: That's one fun little hobby you've got there, Will.
Willow: Or... or maybe an ear-harvesting demon that is, like, building another demon completely out of ears. Or... Ooh. Thought. We're just assuming someone else cut off the ear. What if it was self-inflicted, like Van Gogh?
Buffy: So, she brutally stabs herself, dumped the body, then cut off her own ear?
Willow: No. She cut off her ear, then killed herself, then dumped the body... I'm really off my game, aren't I?

Giles: Tell me again why we're not doing this at your house.
Buffy: Giles, if you would like to get by in American society, then you are going to have to follow our traditions. You're the patriarch. You have to host the festivities, or it's all meaningless.
Giles: And this is in no way an elaborate scheme to stick me with the cleanup?
Buffy: How about that ceremonial knife, huh? Pretty juicy piece of clueage, don't you think?

Giles: It's not fair. You know that's what she'd say. You can see her, but she can't see you?
Angel: Believe me, I'm not getting the good half of this deal. To be on the outside looking in at what I can't... Well, I'd forgotten how bad it feels.

Willow: See, I don't get that, all this "leaving for her own good" garbage. Because that's what it is. You can't just give up because there's obstacles. What kind...
Angel: Willow.
Willow: Sorry. My stuff.

Buffy: Um, you know, if you don't already have plans... You should come. I'm a great cook... In theory. I've eaten a lot.
Riley: That sounds so great, but I'm outta here tonight. I've got a last-minute flight back to Iowa.
Buffy: Iowa. That's one of the ones in the middle, right?
Riley: My folks are there. We always do Thanksgiving at my grandparents' house. A little farm outside Huxley.
Buffy: Sounds nice.
Riley: It is. After dinner, we all go for a walk down by the river with the dogs. There's trees and... And I know what you're thinking. It's like I grew up in a Grant Wood painting.
Buffy: Exactly, if I knew who that was.
Riley: Just a guy who painted stuff that looked like where I grew up.
Buffy: Well, have fun at the homestead.
Riley: Always do. What's the line? Home's the place that, when you have to go there...
Buffy: They have to take you in.

Buffy, correcting Giles: Native American.
Giles: Sorry?
Buffy: We don't say "Indian."
Giles: Oh, right. Yes, yes. Um, always behind on the terms. Still trying not to refer to you lot as "bloody colonials."

Buffy: And the thing is, I like my evil like I like my men: evil. You know, straight up, black hat, "Tied to the train tracks, soon my electro-ray will destroy metropolis" bad. Not all mixed up with guilt and the destruction of an indigenous culture.

Giles: He's recreating all the wrongs done to his people. And it's up to us to stop him.
Buffy: Yes, but after dinner, right?

Willow: I don't think you wanna help. I think you just wanna slay the demon, then go (singing) La la la...

Giles: Xander. You look like death.
Willow: Are you ok?
Buffy, coming in from the kitchen: You didn't bring rolls?

Willow: Sarcasm accomplishes nothing, Giles.
Giles: It's sort of an end in itself.
Xander: Can we come rocketing back to the part about me and my new syphilis?
Anya: It'll make you blind and insane, but it won't kill you. The smallpox will.
Willow: Maybe there's a wiccan spell that can cure it. Something regular medicine doesn't know. Ooh, there was a potion. (reading) "Sage, salt... Onion..."?
Buffy: That's the stuffing.

Xander: I hate this guy.
Willow: He's just doing what was done to him.
Xander: I didn't give him syphilis.
Giles: No, but you freed his spirit, and after a century of unrest, he saw you as one of his oppressors.
Xander: What, so he rises up and infects the first guy he sees? That's no fair.
Willow: Like you've never woken up cranky?

Giles: Buffy, Xander's in real danger. Are you sure the solution is pie?
Buffy: Over bickering and confusion, I'll take pie. We will find a solution. And we will have a nice dinner, okay? Both. End of story. I'm having Thanksgiving, and it'll be perfect.

Spike: What part of "help me" do you not understand?
Buffy: The part where I help you.

Spike: I'm saying that Spike had a little trip to the vet and now he doesn't chase the other puppies anymore. I can't bite anything. I can't even hit people.
Buffy: So you haven't murdered anybody lately? Let's be best pals.

Spike: Oh, someone put a stake in me.
Xander: You got a lot of volunteers in here.
Spike: I just can't take all this mamby-pamby boo-hooing about the bloody Indians.
Buffy: Uh, the preferred term...
Spike: You won. All right? You came in and you killed them and you took their land. That's what conquering nations do. It's what Caesar did, and he's not going around saying, "I came, I conquered, I felt really bad about it." The history of the world isn't people making friends. You had better weapons, and you massacred them. End of story.

Anya: I'll go.
Xander: Me, too.
Buffy: Sure you're up to it?
Spike: Oh, leave that one. He looks like he's ready to drop any minute, and I think I can eat someone if he's already dead.
Xander: I'm up to it.

Spike: You know what happens to vampires who don't get to feed?
Buffy: I always wondered that. Giles, plates.
Spike: Living skeletons, mate. Like famine pictures from those dusty countries, only not half as funny.
Buffy: You can have gravy. That has blood in it, right?
Spike: Do you know what else has blood in it? Blood.

Spike, tied to a chair, as arrows fly around him: Hey! Watch the heart!

Anya: So this is Angel. He's large and glowery, isn't he?
Xander: He's evil again.
Angel: I'm not evil again. Why does everyone think that?

Giles answering the phone: Hello? Yes. ... Yes, we're well aware of that. ... We're under siege now, actually. ... Thank you.

(Hus turns into a large bear.)
Buffy: A bear!
Spike: You made a bear!
Buffy: I didn't mean to!
Spike: Undo it! Undo it!
Xander: Hey, Gentle Ben, over here. That's for giving me syphilis!

Spike, still hungry: You'd think one of you would bleed a little...

Buffy: Wasn't exactly a perfect Thanksgiving.
Willow: I don't know. Seemed kinda right to me. A bunch of anticipation, a big fight, and now we're all sleepy. And we did all survive.
Buffy: I guess that much is true.
Buffy: First Thanksgiving on my own, and we all got through it.
Xander to Anya: And you know what? I think my syphilis is clearing right up.
Buffy: And they say romance is dead. Or maybe they just wish it.