After what seems like century sitting in

After what seems like century sitting in the car we finally pull up to a

McDonalds. Road tripping in Europe, sometimes it's so hard finding a proper place to eat! We had arrived at a small village in the south of France, and people here looked at us

I walked up to the nearest local and said, 'Excuzee moi sil vou plate. Que Mc Donald, Si? Big Mac?Yum? Yum?" He hit me over the head with a baguette. "Non! Stupides Américains!"

My Gambit paid off. It was the French Assassin Mean Cuisine. I launched two breakfast burrito grenades. He defused them with warm brie. But I swung a fully loaded

Hottub. I may have been cuckolded in my day, & am known to come home soused & sleep in the bath, but I am no chicken. I fired up two wand blenders charging Mssr. Cuisinarte

with one set to -chop- and one set to -puree-. Mssr. Cuisinarte parried my first few blows but I backed him into a corner. I was just about to blenderize him into oblivion when Mr.

Frying Pan flipped me upside down, like a pancake. Mrs Plastic Spatula began to squash me, grind me against Mr Frying Pan and I felt myself flattening into an oily heap. But

the torture was not finished, for some peculiar reason the knife decided to carve into me,and then i was smothered with a thick liquid that dripped off of me.What was going on?

Was I being drenched in BBQ sauce? Turns out I was the main course at the Roastin' Pig Festival in Prima, Kentucky. I wanted to call 'em bastards, but all that and out was "oink".