Southerners love BBQ. Cooking a pig slowly, for hours and hours and hours, is one of the few things we do well. We all have our favorite places, and they’re never easy to get to:
A:Hey I’d like to go to that BBQ restaurant you mentioned, do you know their number, so I can call them.
B:Oh they don’t have a phone.
A:Well how do you contact them?
A: Ok. Then what.
B: Then they come find you
A:How do they know where I am?
B:Oh they’ll know. And be ready, because they’re going to blindfold you and throw you in the back of the trunk
A:I don’t want that.
B:Dude the ribs are so tender, trust me. But do say goodbye to your family and friends because you’ll be gone 6 to 8 months.
A:Seriously doesn’t sound worth it.
B:Oh it’s worth it. You’ll never be able to eat bbq again it is that good. That and the trauma you’ll suffer.
B:You’re about to get waterboarded.
B: But then they bring you the bbq.
A: Better be a nice big plate.
B:They don’t have plates. They throw it on the floor and you eat it like a dog. They’re all standing around laughing at you. You’re naked.
B: You don’t want them pissing on your clothes.
A:You know what, I am not interested.
B: Oh, it’s too late. A series of events have been set into motion that you are no longer in control of. And I hope you like banana pudding, because you’re about to get rammed in the ass with it.
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