In the grand American tradition of "Inventing Special Events Just To Justify Public Drunkenness," I bring you The Testicle Festival!
Yes, every year since 1982, folks have gathered at the Rock Creek Lodge to drink, cavort, and eat a bull's balls. These are probably the same people who designed the above poster, including the incorrect spelling of the word 'testicle.'
From what I can gather, this cuisine is referred to as 'Rocky Mountain Oysters.' So just whip up a mess of bull spooglings and beer, and faster than you can say, "Show me your tits!" you've got a party on your hands.
Now don't get me wrong... I have nothing against mutilating an animal just for the sheer joy of it. I'm all in favor of animal mutilation. In fact, as I type this very post, I'm slowly sawing through a puppy's neck using only my jagged fingernail. But don't call PETA on my ass; I knocked the dog unconscious with a frozen can of Parmesan cheese before I started. I am, if nothing else, sensitive to the suffering of others.
What really gets my goat about the Testicle Festival is that it doesn't include the bull's dong, as well. What could be sweeter than munching on a plateful of Rocky Mountain Oysters nestled alongside a plump bull cock? I dare say "Nothing!"
In searching for information about this festival, I ran across plenty of debauchery that featured women exposing their naughty bits (WARNING: THIS LINK IS ADULT IN NATURE, YOU PERVERT!!!). Sure, there was plenty of T&A, but where was the B&C? In a festival that celebrates the very embodiment of manhood, I couldn't find one single instance of naked manhood on display. Not one!
This represents nothing less than cowardly sexism! That is why I have decided to boycott the Testicle Festival until the men of Montana grow a pair... of their own balls, that is! C'mon dudes, show us your undercarriage!
Every other festival in the world is dedicated to women's private parts (and the consumption of enough alcohol to allow the free ogling and fondling of said private parts). Can't we have one place to call our own, my be-sacked brothers? Isn't there one place on this earth where our goodies can be celebrated and ogled in all of their hairy splendor? I say there is, and it's called the Testicle Festival!
So this year, when the Testicle Festival swings into gear on July 30th, I want every man to proudly display what the good Lord gave them. Let 'em hang free, boys! Make sure the only balls you see aren't the ones you're eating!