We were talking in bed last night about our impending vacation. Our yearly pilgrimage to our Mecca, aka Idaho. For all those of you who are cringing, don't think I haven't brought it up on occasion how creepy Idaho is.
I asked Derek why his sister is always discussing his digestive problems when we all get together. I mean, I have been with the man for 3 years and I have never really witnessed such problems. I cook stuff as hot as can be and never a complaint or reaction to my knowledge.
He said that every once in a while, something won't hit his stomach right. But doesn't that happen to everyone? He blamed it on his evil father who used to make him eat brain, stomach, tongue, liver, ect. But Evil FIL also was cruel enough to deny his children even the right to make a face when something tasted wicked bad (personally I think this is a good thing because there is nothing worse than a child who scrunches up his face and yells "EEEWWW" when asked to try something at the neighbors house).
We started to discuss how tongue looks when you see it in the supermarket. But this is the point of the conversation when everything went south...
D: You know, after reading the Lewis and Clark journals, where they talk about how much they looked forward to shooting a buffalo so they could eat it's tongue, I'm starting to think I might be missing something. Maybe tongue just needs to be fresh.
K: So what does that mean? If we went out and found a beef (yes, this is what I said) and cut his tongue out while he was still alive and ate it, it would be good?
K: I am SO blogging this tomorrow.