I need a flimsy pretext...

...for roasting that pig's head. Seriously, any kind of party will do. Any kind of anything will do. Call me.

And this business of being on the Internet once a week is madness. Perhaps I can blame this madness on Lent.

I'm starting to think that I'm on this offal kick for the same reason I dress in the manner that I do. Shockin' the squares. Maybe I like getting stared at and having my picture taken from a Skyline drive-through. My buddy Joe will often come over and he'll see the jar on the top of the refrigerator. He'll asked, "Lordamercy! What are those!?" He does it every week. I say, "Those? Oh, they're pickled pig's ears. Do you want one?" Then, I'll eat one (they're not very good) and he'll blanche a little and we'll do it all over again next week. Then we'll have a real dinner and I'll drink a beer and we'll gossip for a few hours.

See, I can't figure out whether those are bull testicles in my freezer of pork ones. I mean, they're not really as big as you might think. They're really not much bigger than mine, although they look more or less like you might think. They're about the size of hand grenades. I think I'm going to have a little trouble with an overative imagination while I sit down to eat these. maybe I'll eat them at your party. Or maybe you'll eat them at my party. Maybe after I give you a rufie.

So, to apologize for never posting here's some awesome photos from Belarus.