All Aboard The Idiot Train
by Steve West on October 3, 2009
I swear that lately, I feel like the proverbial snowball that inexorably turns into an avalanche. Yesterday, I was unloading the van of the last of the grass needed to complete the front yard landscaping. Only 170 square feet so it wouldn't take long. It was approaching dinner time so I decided to start the grill, load it with the roadkill du jour, and unload the van while they began their slow-cook. Hot dogs for the girls and Brenda and a couple of burgers for me. Unloading the van was a snap, no more than ten minutes. It's amazing how high and hot a fire can get in a closed cover grill in ten minutes. The cheap meat had dripped fat into the flames and started one hellacious greasefire. Hellacious is the right word 'cause I swore I saw Satan dancing in the flames poking my burger with his pitchfork, trying to coax one more drop of grease from my burger to increase the temperature of the fire by just one more degree. I shovelled the food aside and turned off the flame (the part I had control of anyway) and waited for the rest of the inferno to die out. When all was said and done, a couple of semi-recognizable hockey pucks remained and the hot dogs - well, you know those commercials that advertise that they plump when you cook 'em? Talk about your truth in advertising! Those sumbitches were thick as my forearm. Brenda wisely went to McDonald's and got Happy Meals for the girls. I refused to let Satan win and swore I liked my burgers char-broiled, emphasis on the char. I would have my own Happy Meal I said while laughing like a lunatic. I chided Brenda for buying some other restaurant's food while ignoring the wholesome victuals of Steve's 7th Circle restaurant, home of the greasefire burger. Where's the Tums?
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Steve West scours the Web searching for interest or absurdity and then shakes his head ruefully when he finds it. Read more »