Heartattack Starts With a B

Or, more correctly, numerous Bs. Like Bacon, Bread fried in Bacon drippings, and pulled-pork BBQ, smothered in sauce. You see where this is going, right?

If you said Beer, you'd be correct.

And because I'm concerned about my svelte figure, I followed up last night with some beef brisket, porkchops, creamed corn, cornbread, scalloped potatoes, caesar salad, and yeah, beer. You get it though, right? You understand the aching loss I feel after more than a few days without barbeque. And my undying love of pork product, yes? Surely, you must. If you've ever felt that quick rush of pure SEX as you walk near a grill or a vat of sauce then you just know. It's like shooting up with plaster of paris or something. You feel your arteries stiffen right before the meat-headache kicks in, but it hurts so good! Especially since this was a picture I took of my most adventurous culinary quest about a month after the breakup.

Shitty canned soup done in the microwave on dirty, untouched kitchen counters. We've come a long way.