The remnants of Hurricane Dennis hover over our mountains this morning. I'm feeling like I live in a rain forest--which is not a bad thing. It just makes me want to sleep.

More later...

It is now later. I have been blog browsing and just finished reading Tom's The Way Forward column on the North Carolina Hog Farming Industry and BBQ. I barely got through it because I was trying to hold back my gagging reflex. I wasn't about to toss my cookies because of Tom's words (afterall, he is a wise man) , but because it brought back a horrible memory of something ridiculously unexplainable that I did a several days ago.
I share this with you now and it is hard for me to do so. But I will as long as you don't laugh at me.
Warning--My story is gross...

Right before the Fourth of July I began to crave the one food that binds all North Carolinians together--Pulled Pork BBQ .  I noticed at the Winn Dixie that Pork Butts were on sale so I bought one. When I returned home, I place the butt on the refrigerator shelf where it sat for a day waiting for me to slow cook it.

The next morning I returned to the refrigerator to retrieve a couple of breakfast eggs on the lower shelf. With eggs in hand, I saw that on my wrist was a patch of red--'kinda looks like candy to me--perhaps cherry jello' was the thought that went through my head in the split second before I licked my wrist. No sooner than the flavorless substance was on my tongue, I knew that I had done myself wrong. How could I, of all people lick an unknown object from my arm? I knew better--god, I really did know better.

I went back to the fridge to investigate and confirm my transgression. I had indeed licked bloody raw pork butt juice from my arm. I picked up the butt and threw it in the trash.

I couldn't eat all day long.

AND, if THAT wasn't bad enough. I went to throw away garbage yesterday and the flies were abundant. I smelled the rotting carcass of that hideous pork butt. It is maggot infested.

I'm not touching it!