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?

B:Carrier pigeon

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.

A: Trama?

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.

A: 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.