Hailing from the dairy state… a state who’s bird is the drumstick, the flower: canola, and the motto: why is that not battered? is our DJ of this past Wednesday evening’s hearty artery party: DJ Deep Fried Goodness. She seriously satiated our every carnal craving with her killer mix of jalapeno heart poppers and lockers. Our t-shirts served as serviettes, sopping up the grease we generated through gyration. And after we felt the cool breezes generated by Mr. Blue Sky, this mister below was blowing his oral breezes onto molten-hot curds, and waiting for us as we exited the studio… popping one perfect curd in every maw as we exited.
Perhaps part of this post is fantasy. Perhaps someone will heed this fantasy and make their boyfriend do this for us one day. I will be ready with a mouth dripping with ranch dip after each DDPP from now on, regardless. God I’m disgusting. Hey – want to watch a silly video of ladies dancing through the decades and not quite understand why the audience feels it’s soooo hilarious? Oh goody.
OK – with that, I think you more than deserve to peep DJ Deep Fried Goodness’ playlist. Thank you for playing. (that’s both a reference to you, DJ, and to ya’ll – ya’ll) Hi-YA!