Well, here's a beautiful thought…there's been a recall on egg salad sandwiches sold at the Pilot Gas Stations. You may wonder why I care…well, hell…I live on them. Well not really. I'm not partial to egg salad—but I do on occasion grab an overpriced chicken salad sandwich from the cooler at the Pilot where I buy gas. I find them tasty and gratifying…therefore I was obviously a little uneasy about this recall. If the eggs were bad—the chicken can't be far behind. Perhaps I should start looking for Jeff Kay's intestinal worms in the shitter? My other question---how do you have a recall on a sandwich? It's not like you buy them in bulk as if it were Sam's and store them in the cabinet to do you for the next two weeks---or maybe people do and I'm enjoying them WAY too much on the trip from the gas station to the interstate exit, (about 200 yards).

That of course segues into my commentary on Mr. Kay's visit to the local Critter Dinner this week. I will admit that his review of the affair is comedic gold. I laughed out loud when he mentioned the guy who yelled the pickled eggs would enhance the smell of beer farts. I can literally hear that happening, because I know these kinds of people. Hell, I'm one of them. Secondly, the comment, "Everybody was putting on their Teamsters windbreaker." Again, classic if you've grown up in the rural, industrial part of the nation among the blue collar set.

With appropriate respect given to Mr. Kay's writing ability---I now declare he is a Class A, first rate, top-of-the-line, old school pussy. Do you think the pioneers of this nation stopped off at Wendy's on their way home from a day of cutting trees with a cross cut saw? I suppose the Native Americans that preceded us here were actually sending smoke signals to the local Domino's and threatening no wampum tip if the shit arrived via wild mustang and it was cold. Yeah, they tell us in our history books about the Lost Raleigh Colony…..but the real story is they all tore out for the all you can eat buffet at the Golden Corral. Come on Jeff. Even you admitted the shit tasted good. So the wild turkey was a little under done. Big fucking deal. I've heard you whine and groan about assburgers at the local Bennigan's in this very column not being to your liking, so why should you be surprised that you didn't like EVERYTHING?

There was a mention of finishing off Gentle Ben's ass (yes, I find that line hilarious) However, you stopped off at Wendy's and polished off Clara Bell's Ass while you were at it. Fast food beef is the lowest quality (why do you think they can sell it for 99 cents?). You may also be happy to learn that your chicken sandwich at Applebees was raised on a diet of – and I'm not joking here – chicken shit. The hot dogs you enjoy at the ballgame? Lips and assholes my friend! It's impossible to really know what those farm raised critters you buy at Kroger were fed during their life, but wild game raised itself on an all natural and health food diet. Don't get me wrong, I'm a proud carnivore here and I enjoy a good feed under the golden arches myself. I also want to distance myself from sounding like Nancy, but I've lived my entire life on a largely wild game cuisine. Currently in my freezer are the remnants of five deer, several pounds of WILD boar, a couple of wild turkey breasts, and several dozen packs of trout and salmon caught by ME and my family. They say don't knock it until you try it. Okay, you've tried it—good enough, but just thought I'd point out a few facts you may have overlooked.

Oh look….they've found the missing link.

Just for the record it's NOT in West Virginia.

I attended a rather bizarre wedding ceremony last weekend. It wasn't actually a wedding. This older couple had been married 50-years and was renewing their vows. However, it was a full blown wedding ceremony. He had a tux, she had a bridal gown. The whole wedding party was made up of their children, grandchildren, and great grand children. I kept making indignant remarks like, "I give this thing one month." And "It's good they got married early before she started showing." And "She shouldn't be wearing white." I found all of this pretty good material---those around me were not amused. Tough room.

The reception was fittingly in a VOLUNTEER FIRE HALL and featured a GOSPEL band. Oh, you think I'm joking. They called the bride and groom to dance the first dance…but they refused because dancing violates their RELIGION. Needless to say, nobody danced after that and it simply became what's known in these parts as "A SING." Since there was no dancing allowed, you can certainly be sure there was no open bar—in fact there was no bar at all…unless, and again I'm not making this up, you went into the parking lot. Several grown men wearing "their good clothes" were congregated around a pickup truck passing around a fruit jar of moonshine. Yeah, I truly felt at home and amongst friends.