My best friend Ho and I ventured out of our comfort zone on Saturday for a spot of shopping at a glass wholesaler, and we were, as usual, boisterous and red a lot of the time. If people could have heard the running commentary and opinions pouring out of us on Saturday they would have set angry camels on us! You just know you’re in foreign territory when the GPS bitch’s pronunciation of road names makes you howl with laughter and encourages many wrong turns just to hear the next insane name pronounced.
On our way back we decided to ditch our original lunch plans and pop into an interesting looking foodie spot which was obviously very popular judging by the huge number of cars in the parking areas. We were also joined by Ho’s mom, Doris – not her name, we just call her that. Walking through a lovely garden to the main restaurant, we heard a donkey braying. The three of us decided that this might be quite an adventure after all, and we entered the restaurant, which was open and airy, and there were lots of different areas with tables in the vast gardens as well.
I looked around at the people and wondered if we’d stumbled into auditions for a remake of Deliverance. Doris wondered how many people there owned banjos, and my friend Ho was hissing “Piet, los jou sussie uit!” (Piet, leave your sister alone!) The whole place was surrounded by some farmyard setup, and the people there might have mistaken us for local wildlife because we were like deer caught in headlights. We accepted a table in a corner inside, from where we had a full view of everything and everyone. And things just went downhill from there.
We ordered a bottle of champagne immediately. The waitress, obviously surprised and more accustomed to orders for beer by the quart, asked if it was a special occasion. I said “Yes, US”, and my friend Ho told her to just ignore me and that we were celebrating her birthday, which we totally fucking aren’t doing until late May thank you, but she felt that was the most gracious way to answer the waitress instead of explaining that it’s just our tipple of choice. Our Ma-Moer-Vir-Pa-Juice. (MOER (slang) as defined on Wiktionary : To hit someone very hard).
The big-hair lady from Coco Bongo the week before would have felt right at home here – the big up-out- and all over the place hairstyles were abundant. A really interesting-looking crowd walked in and straight through to a big reserved table in the garden. One of the women in the group looked super-scary and possibly halfway through a gender reassignment process – we tried not to openly stare in case we antagonised the local wildlife into a confrontation but Just. Could. Not. Stop. Staring. Then I hear Ho grunt under her breath “Hey, I wasn’t born this way I was moered this way!”.
How I managed to stay seated and upright is a mystery. Too much to take in. Too much to be afraid of. Too many fanfuckingtastic insults slipping off our tongues and laughter verging on hysteria. We just managed to compose ourselves when I heard Ho say “Ah no fuck here come the Flintstones.” I looked up to see all the waiters heading to our table with a big plate of ice cream and a sparkler! Yay for Ho’s birthday!!!!!! They sang and clapped and EVERYONE looked! AND, they sang the Spur birthday song. WTF! Get your own birthday song! By now Ho just wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear.
Just when I thought we’d hit the lowest low, things got worse. A lady walked past our table laughing and greeting someone entering the restaurant. My jaw dropped and I turned to Ho and said “Holy shit she has such a dreadful overbite she could eat an apple through a tennis racket!”.
Ho stared for a minute, tried to imitate the look and said “How the phuhk doeph she phold towels?!” I’ll give you a minute. Picture it. Folding towels. I am truly so sorry.
According to 1000 Ways to Die, a person actually CAN die from laughing. Fuck that was close. I believe it.
And then it was time to visit the farmyard. We played with the donkey and whispered obscenities to the goats. But the camels were special. Fugly. The fuck I gave went that way but here’s a camel’s arse:
And new furry friends and camel toes…
Ho decided to try and feed one of the camels and warily approached in ninja mode. I looked at the camel’s gaping mouth, and then at Ho, and in a whimpering voice I said “Ho, I think my dad’s come back as a camel.” It was hometime. (Two years before his death, my dad had all his scary smoker teeth extracted to get dentures).
As we walked out we passed a few crowds trickling in, and the men all had bigger boobs than the women! Quietly chanting “Jerry! Jerry!” we made our way out of Springer-ville and back to civilisation.
I am truly sorry if my post offended anybody, and if it has, I hope you find the X in the top corner of the screen. And don’t forget your banjo.
Because this post is really lower than a resting camel’s testicles, the recipe this week is for my special Penis Cookies (and Bikini Bum Cookies!). I made these for Doris for Mother’s Day before, and for Snaphappy to take to a bachelorette party last year. You are of course free to cut your cookies in whatever shape you wish, perhaps angels.
PENIS AND BIKINI BUM COOKIES
125ml Butter (again – the REAL stuff, the good shit)
- 250ml Granulated Sugar (not castor or icing or whatever they call cocaine nowadays)
- 1 Extra Large Egg (I can recommend a farmyard you can get these from..)
- 1 Tablespoon Milk (May need 1 more) Seriously – the bracketed info is not me being facetious. More milk may be needed.
- 5ml Vanilla Essence (or a teaspoon of Holy Water if you haven’t got any – because then they’ll be evil crappy cookies)
- 630ml Cake Flour (don’t compact it please otherwise it really becomes like 800ml which is just a fuckup waiting to happen)
- 10ml Baking Power (helps the penis rise to the occasion, and keeps the bums perky and uplifted)
- 2ml Salt (I think all penises have some salt?
- Icing pens in various colours, and small decorations. (It definitely states PENS).
- Using an electric mixer, beat the butter until it is pale and creamy. Add the sugar and beat until it is well blended with the butter.
- Add the egg, milk and vanilla essence and mix well. You may want to grab a wooden spoon and continue by hand because the mixture is going to start getting quite STIFF.
- Sieve all the dry ingredients together, and add it to the WET mixture. (The obscenities come naturally in this recipe don’t they?). Mix everything together really well, wrap in clingwrap and put in the fridge for half an hour before rolling out the dough.
- Preheat the oven 180⁰C.
- Roll the dough out to about 4mm thick, and then cut out whatever penis cookie shapes you want. For the bikini bum cookies, use a heart-shaped cookie cutter, and then just slice off the bottom third of the heart – turn it upside down and hey presto! Arses everywhere!
- Place cookies on a baking sheet about 2cm apart, and bake for 12 minutes or until golden brown.
- Allow to cool and serve dusted with icing sugar.
- For the bikini bums – use icing pens to draw a simple bikini outline, and fill in with various coloured icing pens, or make your own by mixing about 1 cup icing sugar, 1 tbsp soft butter, 3 tbsps milk to form a thick but runny icing.
Eat as many cookies as you like – I don’t think kissing arse makes you fat and Sir always says – “You can’t get fat from eating too much penis Cookie!”
I shall try to redeem myself with a slightly more tasteful post next week.