A few weeks ago the Boss and I were invited to be judges, I got pies and the Boss got cakes. I can’t tell you how thrilled I was, as to be honest, eating pies is where I am a Viking. Almost everywhere else in the world the word pie is prefixed with a silent but understood meat. Steak and Ale, home made Pork Pie and thrill of thrills a Steak and Kidney Pudding is like a thousand angels copulating in your mouth. So last Saturday the boss and I arrived, clipboards and silver sampling forks in hand and discovered that here in Kissbotty the word pie does not involve the meat word. To heap disappointment upon disappointment there was only one entry. Imagine that in the whole of Kissbotty County there is only one woman who can make a pie. In a fit of pique I awarded her a desultory blue ribbon and stomped off to have a look at the barbeque smokers. I really don’t know what is up with Kissbotty but there were only two barbeque entries (and between you and me, one of them was using propane, how inappropriate is that)? My next project is to build a smoker so I figure with a field of three entrants I should be in with a good chance, especially if someone were to accidentally tip a bucket of urine down the smoke stacks of the competition.
So if you want to unmask the Coffee Bitch (aka the Smalltown phantom flasher) I will be at the 2008 Kissbotty County Fair in the barbeque section standing next to an empty bucket.
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