It’s been a very long time since ol’ ‘Okie’ partook of a plate piled high with mountain oysters, more commonly known as bull testicles. Actually, Mom would slice them into strips, batter ‘em up real good and deep fry ‘em. As they say on the Campbell soup commercials — “Ooo Mmm Good!”

Blogger and Townhall.com columnist Phil Harris recently found himself in South Bend, Nebraska sitting before his own plate of testicular gastronomy and found that he was contemplating a lot more than chewin’ through a stack of bull balls.

A group composed of a few friends and family members embarked on a bizarre adventure the other day. It was one of those moments in time, when one’s life teeters precariously on a fence. One side represents the expected evolution of time and maturity, while deep emotional scars lie on the other, waiting to pounce upon sanity with merciless fury.

Indeed, like foolish children who are mesmerized by the piper’s song, we made our way to South Bend, Nebraska and the annual Testicle Festival. I have long heard stories of this insane practice, and being unaware of any testicle induced fatalities, curiosity got the best of me. I ordered a basket of deep fried testicles, and I ate them.
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Of course, there are obvious lessons to be drawn from this experience, considering the herd of political animals that dream of grabbing the reigns of power in 2008. I mean certainly, I cannot be the only one who thinks “politician” when he hears the word testicles.
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Be that as it may, I am afraid that a serious testicle shortage exists in the nation’s beltway. After all, one might assume that a healthy, normal dose of testosterone would cause this powerful nation’s leaders to clinch their teeth in a fighting rage, as terrorists and other homicidal maniacs blow up our troops and innocent Iraqi citizens. Instead, we have witnessed the neutering of our congressional delegations as they cower in retreat; handing the devil’s minions the predictable victory they designed.

Just ’cause you got ‘em, don’t mean you’ve got a clue as how to use ‘em. Silky Pony is a prime example. Whether the winner in ‘08 actually possesses a set or just has a healthy dose of testicular fortitude one thing is certain — he/she will be severely tested by those that wish us great harm. God help us all if our next president is found out a neuter.

Technorati Tags: Rocky Mountain Oysters, South Bend, Silky Pony

This entry was posted on Tuesday, July 17th, 2007 at 12:20 pm and is filed under Cafe Okie, Fever Swamp Madness, When Right is Right. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.  |   Print This Post  |   Email This Post

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