The Montana Testicle Festival

I have a list of Life Goals that I review once or twice a year, sometimes checking off items that I’ve managed to accomplish, sometimes removing things that no longer appeal to me, but most often adding new, cool-sounding activities or events. Last night I spent a couple hours searching the Internet for other people’s to-do lists, worldwide travel guides, and the like. During my online travels, I stumbled upon a list of 100 Things to do Before You Die. Perfect!

So I started adding things to my list; the Nevada Burning Man Project, the Dia de los Muertos Festival in Mexico, the Cannes Film Festival, the Montana Testicle Festival, the International Dragon Boat Championships in China…

Wait a minute! The Montana Testicle Festival? What the hëll is that?! Naturally, I searched for and found the festival’s website. Well, of course, as the name implies, it’s a food festival — but involving 4,500 pounds of carefully prepared, beer-marinated, secret-recipe-breaded, deep-fried bull testicles. There’s also live music, lots of motorcycles, and a horseshoe tournament.

Photo © / Slava Dusaleev

It’s motto being “No Ãsshølës Allowed”, the festival bills itself as an Adults-Only attraction:

  • bûllshìt bingo — participants buy squares on a huge grid. In whichever square a large bull takes a dump, the person that bought it wins something.
  • body painting
  • a tricycle race — participants appear to be required to drink an unknown quantity of beer before racing along a dirt track wearing just their underwear.
  • a wet T-shirt contest
  • a hairy chest contest — not exactly weird, but certainly unusual.
  • co-ed naked pool — unfortunately, sounds like the billiards type of pool, not a swimming pool.
  • Bite the Ball Motorcycle Ride — motorcycle riders and their passengers attempt to bite into a hanging bull testicle while riding by.

OK, not exactly my cup of tea (except perhaps for the body painting and wet T-shirt contest), but I try to maintain an open mind about everything. The online gallery of photo albums over the years was the final clincher. I don’t mind a bit of public nudity (as long as it’s someone else’s, not my own, and preferably female), but I couldn’t stomach the idea of eating a plateful of deep-fried bull testicles in the shadow of a stage that reads “Show Me Your Nuts”, surrounded by flaccid, overweight, middle-aged bikers with hairy chests showing off their own smaller versions of the plate de jour.

I just hope it’s not spaghetti and meatballs for dinner tonight.

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