I think what’s wrong with me is that my dad loved making boiled peanuts but when you say “boiled peanuts” in a thick Mississippi Delta accent it sounds like “bald penis” and we were forbidden from acknowledging that
My dad, internally: “The children must be fed nutriment. I have in my possession a very large pot and a propane burner; I shall make a sojourn to the grocer’s and procure peanuts.”
My dad, aloud: “‘Ey, y'all wansum bald penis?”
All of us, internally: “Ah yes, such a delectable summertime treat that will be.”
All of us, aloud: “'Ey, shitchea. Daddy boutta bal up some bald penis!”
They take on a delightful texture similar to water chestnuts and get infused with whatever seasonings you put in the water. It is literally so fucking delicious and if you don’t know about bald penis then you are Deprived. The food of the gods.
Honey, darling, listen to me. Would I lie to you? No, I wouldn’t. If you ever find yourself driving around in the rural southern US, you simply must keep an eye out for one of these gentlemen:
For a very reasonable price you’ll be provided a cup of absolutely delectable provincial delicacies that will surely equal any hors d'ouvers you might find on the continent. I promise, darling, it is the most délicieuse dining experience you’re likely to find, and it will surely–as my dear departed grandmama used to say–“make yer tongue slap yer brains out”
