The Testes Kitchen documents boys in their pursuit of culinary excellence. It’s also a great way to upset the neighbors.
gimme some space!
My tiny mother purchased an equally tiny Little Smokey barbecue grill for The Boyfriend for Christmas. We finally decided to embrace our hillbilly streak and use it to make and eat an impromptu dinner in the front yard. Like raccoons. Or hobos. Or YOUR MOM. (Hillbillies don’t know current jokes).
This pretty much sums up how classy the whole affair was:
Sarah manhandled the corn. No matter what that bitch ear says in court, I’ll testify that the corn fucking liked it.
I can’t tell you how delicious these kabobs were. I can tell you, however, that we ate them with our hands and used our pants as napkins. The same pants I’m wearing right now. Nope, haven’t washed ‘em! Yep, I smell like roadkill!
Obviously, my boyfriend took that picture. He told me my face was in it, but I can’t blame him for the rack shot. I was wearing my most alluring beige full-coverage bra.
And while he’s proud of his photography skills, he’s still ashamed to date me. So he insisted on the Witness Protection Corngram.
I made note of a ton of funny shit we said because, duh, we’re the funniest people you know. But then I drank all the wine in Dallas and forgot everything, including my Social Security Number and the names of the Saved By the Bell cast members. But since no one uttered the words, “You go, grill,” I’m gonna deem this one a success.