I just wrote a whole entry, and then I decided that it annoyed me and was majorly egotistical, to boot, so I deleted the little bastard.
I’m growing my hair out, so that I can stop spending like $40 a month to keep it sassy and short. So it’s been about 7 or 8 weeks since I had it cut and I think I’m growing a mullet. Oh no! Fear the mullet!
What is it about the South that makes pickled pigs’ feet something tasty to munch on? I’m just not feeling it, people. When we first moved here from Colorado about ten years ago, people were all like “have you had a pickled pig’s foot yet?” and so eventually I tried one. No, make that I took a tiny nibble of the edge of one and recoiled in horror. Seriously, people, you may as well pickle baby feet and put them in a jar. I’m about as likely to eat them as I am pickled pigs’ feet. Pigs walk around in their own shit all day, right? Why in the fucking bloody hell would you want to put that shit in vinegar and then eat it? Why?!
I have to say, though, once in awhile I loves me a pork rind. Just one or two – not a whole bag.
Man, I’m not a big fan of eating the pig, really, but there are two things I love: hot dogs, and Carolina barbecue. Yum.
Now it’s 9:30 in the morning and I want some freakin’ barbecue. With yummy vinegary slaw. From the Silver Pig.