HEAVY METAL CLAM BAKE PIG ROAST!!!!!!!!!!

AAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

That was the flavour of the evening.

But the funniest part was, there was so much sweetness there as well.  Well, that is of course, with the exception of the crude couple who overtly and rudely stared and argued all night about whether or not Papi was a man.

Everyone else saw mi esposo as male.  Fuck the other two.

Back to the bake.

When we were invited to a clam bake, we didn't know what we were in for.  I thought it just meant they were merely cooking up clams.

Well, they were, but never have I seen anything so cool.

The tarp covered the most scrumptious food; clams, potatoes, yams, sweet onions, corn, and all of this was being steamed with seaweed over smokin' hot rocks in the back yard, that had been heating under a bonfire all day for the event.

Mr. Clam Bake himself, was a full fledged, 75 year old riot.  He was hammered before the trays were even made for the clams.  This meant the clams et al were not quite ready by the time the pig was done.

Oh god.  Let me tell you about the pig.

Right there, dead on a stick, complete with it's head, rotating in full glory.

I wasn't going to eat it, because it just looked so morbid and I couldn't handle such blatancy.

I'm one of those people who will gladly eat the meat, as long as I don't have to see where it came from.

Oh, I could see, and I wasn't having any part of it.

That was of course, until my blood sugar dropped so drastically that I persuaded Papi to go get me some.

How good was it?  I think I had a food-gasm.  So good in fact, that I personally went back for seconds and fought my way through the rednecks who thought they could squeeze this city slicking femme in a skirt out of the line.

Dude there was trying to taunt me about the eyes of the pig staring at me, and talking like he was the pig begging me not to eat him.  I just had to do my best and think of it as necessary I eat, so I didn't stick those two, who were still debating my love's gender, on the spit itself.

Then came the entertainment.

They hired some friends to come and play for the party, and being that it was in the furthest reaches of Richmond farmland, they were pleased that they could turn it up to 11.

The maniac singer was quite entertaining, and I forgot I wasn't enjoying the music when he used the children's playhouse as a prop for his antics.

Run up the slide, slide down the slide upside down and backwards, or hanging out of the windows.  You name it, he used it, while he screeched with his male pattern baldness head.  What hair he did have left was sticking straight out the sides in two blue mohawks.  He looked a bit like an exaggerated version of the singer from The Prodigy in their Firestarter video.

When it was time to unveil the clams at about 10 pm, we realized the delicious specimens had been in there for a little longer than Mr. Clam Bake wanted.

However, Mr. Clam Bake was so drunk, he decided to smoke a joint as well, instead of tending to the clams.

He was also damn intent on spilling his drinks on me.

He talked with his hands, which were double fisting beer, so the beer was thrown this way and that.

My purse and jacket still stink.  I'll be dealing with that today.  There's nothing more revolting that stale beer stink on your items, especially when you don't drink.

Somehow Mr. Clam Bake found me in the crowd non-stop and tried to spill more on me, even though I'd jump back every time he tossed his brew.  He didn't see it at all.

Anyway, this was seriously what Papi and I needed.  We don't usually stay at parties for very long, being sober homebodies, but we stuck it out until my pain killers wore off, and the more than amazing food had been eaten.

We forgot all about our troubles for that day.

As a matter of fact, we didn't even speak about anything stressful for the entire duration of the festivities.

Thank you.

i forgive myself for all i have done