Smoked Tomato Camel Toe Contest; @Reckmonster, @Thundercat832 and @ADaftScot Compete

 

So. I awoke at 3:34 am to the sounds of barnyard sex. At least I think the huffing and ass smacking and grunting were barnyard sex. I hope it was barnyard sex. With Rick Perry and Rush Limbaugh I can’t always be sure. My gay pig and ostrich are noisy as lovers and likewise during their daily routines as mates.

I needed to ask them how they made that ass-smacking noise. The ostrich has neither hands to slap an ass nor an ass that would make slap sounds when slapped. His thick, dense feathers cover all of his muscular torso. Slap the giant hog anywhere except his head and feet and it sounds like a slapped ass. Him having only hooves at the end of stubby legs, and we all know that hooves are ill-fitted to ass slapping, caused me to want to ask how they made the ass-slapping noise.

I had to ask. I had to fucking ask.

While I approve of any sexual conjoining among consenting adults, as a heterosexual man, I find many aspects of gay men’s sexual practices icky. I find many aspects of man-on-man pig and ostrich sex disturbing.

After hearing an explanation on the hows of their ass slapping, they settled back into peaceful, snot-snoring slumber and I lay awake. My eyes were burning from spending the day tending my big smoker, by brain was burning with the sick enigma of knowing that I would be perfectly willing, UNDER THE RIGHT CIRCUMSTANCES, to sex Sarah Palin until she walked bow-legged. And my heart was burning with pent-up desire to sex the SACster until I walk bow-legged.

I had been dreaming when awakened by Rush Limbaugh and Rick Perry having sex in my closet. It was another fucking camel toe dream, and a dumb one at that. In this dream I had a motorcycle and the camel toe contest was to see which one felt best when the lady sat behind me for a ride on the Harley. The ladies were each required to wear white cotton undies, the kind preferred by my fifth ex-wife Roshandra Washington-Johnson.

Roshandra looks just like Robin Quivers on the Howard Stern radio show, and just the thought of her rich, black skin in those white cotton undies makes my heart skip a beat. But enough of Roshandra here. She’s in the fucking book.

So, the lady would sit on the back of the bike and snuggle her camel toe tight to my back. Now look, don’t start yakking at me about just how impractical this would be. It was a fucking dream for shitsakes. My dream at that, and I really like camel toes. It’s sick, I fully acknowledge that as fact. But I love camel toes.

This particular contest, and all of my camel toe dreams seem to be contests, featured Sarah fucking Palin, Thundercat-32, Reckmonster and A Daft Scots Lass. The winner last night was the T-cat. Her pocket poochie was full and succulent. I find myself saying, “Robust,” even. T-cat was second to take the ride after Ms. Palin, and the Reckmonster was next up when my silly-assed closeted gay pets woke me. T-cat won by default, but her’s was a winner under any circumstances.

Something always prevents me from evaluating the Reckster’s toe. For some strange reason I have never seen the Reckmonster’s lady meat in any of my dreams. Maybe I better ask Dr. Sam I. Am-Johnson about that one.

Now, as I tell you about this dream, I realize that tomato camel toes were in the dream too. You know how sometimes tomatoes grow in interesting shapes? Quite often they grow in the shape of a camel toe. But holy shit am I digressing the points I intended when I fired-up my PC.

Squatlo asked me about why I grill and smoke tomatoes. Here’s the deal. OK, first, I am a tomato fanatic, a tomato nut case of significant magnitudes. I love to grow them, eat them, cook them, look at them and even dream about them. I relish all things tomato and I have learned to prepare and use tomatoes in all known ways.

Some unknown as well. Like the time I experimented with tomato juice as an enema. All I’ll say is that it worked.

Squat, grilled tomatoes are good for salsa– add grilled tomatillos, onions and peppers plus un-grilled garlic. That one we can same as plain grilled tomatoes. Makes tasty sauces and soups.

Smoked tomatoes are always slow-smoked in whole and also halves. Place the skin side down on the halvesies. Smoke the whole tomatoes until the skin pops then take them off. This is what Gram uses to make her famous catchup. The halves are left on until almost dry, and they are used to make tomato paste. And snackies. Nothing like a bite of smoked tomato followed by a deep swig of icy-cold Carta Blanca beer. Sweet, chewey and smoky goodness in every bite.

Gram’s catchup is crazy good. Now I’m signing off to go make some crispy hash browns to eat with the smoky catchup. I’m drooling on my keyboard.

Manana, y’all.

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4 Responses to “Smoked Tomato Camel Toe Contest; @Reckmonster, @Thundercat832 and @ADaftScot Compete”

  1. Squatlo says:

    Dammit, you’re killing me! We have dozens of little greenies on the twenty-four surviving plants out in the garden, but we’re probably at least two or three weeks away from eating an actual ripe tomato. And you’re already finding ways to get rid of yours, smoking, canning, mashing, stomping, smear on your gay pig, etc.

    Killing me…

  2. admin says:

    Squat. Waaaaah. Suck it up man. Oops, I mean, dude I am sooo sorry. But not to worry because you’ll be getting those red dirt summer beauties that are always sweeter and more acidic than what I can grow. Drink beer, take pretty pictures, write some smart stuff. Only two more weeks!!!

  3. You know, Mooner, I’m always a little excited (and a LOT frightened) whenever I see my name in the title of one of your posts. I’m actually starting to wonder if whatever kind of “steroids” you have your tomatoes on might actually explain some of the crazy shit that goes on in your brain. It makes sense. You’ve been a tomato connoisseur for years now…Squat and I are “on” to your grow-like-fucking-mad-tomatoes scheme. You’re doping the tomatoes! And subsequently, whatever you’re doping them with has settled itself into your brain and is causing you to have these inexplicably redonkulous nutsack dreams! CAMEL TOES on a Harley contest?! Tha fuck?!

    And I’ll tell you EXACTLY why you’ve never visualized the Reckmonster’s meat wallet in any of your dreams: BECAUSE YOU KNOW BETTER!!

    And only a couple of my fucking tomato plants even have flowers on them…not even any little greenies waiting to spring into full-bodied red, delicious glory! Dammit. But…I have some slim cayenne peppers coming in and some delicious bright little yellow squashies on the verge of busting out of their jeans!

  4. admin says:

    Reck. Ah baby, you say the sweetest things. But my tomatoes are energozed with love, attention, compost and, of course, Streaker Jones’ genius. I love when you squashie bursts from your jeans! Got pics?

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