Sunday, August 27, 2006

Touch My Monkey

What makes a good BBQ shirt? Is it the Hawaiian-pattern print? Is it the vague reference to meat? Is it the iron-on Penthouse centerfold?

I stood this morning in my chili-pepper pattern boxers, picking one-by-one through my wardrobe selection. A conundrum was what it was. Nothing seemed to grab me. What I did know was that I would need at least two shirts to make it through the day.

This was fortuitous.

My first shirt was a gray T-shirt with a picture of a monkey drawn over a red field. It reads: "Touch my monkey." Monkeys are made of meat. It seemed appropriate. I grabbed two others and headed for the door.

The next several hours were spent sitting outside, drinking cheap beer, stoking the smoker and reading the newspaper. The shirt remained visually clean, but stunk of sticky sweat and sweet smoke.

More dueling grillers convened, and the collective driveway firestorm nearly tanned my literal hide. Near the judging hour, as thoughts and efforts turned to presentation, It was time to shed the monkey shirt.

Next came the billboard-like marketing T-shirt from a little Southern California chain called "The Hat." Go for the pastrami, stay for the wet fries. No one at the party knew anything about The Hat. However, that didn't stop anyone from giving me the trophy for first place.

Finally, after serving up the grub for 50 guests, and holding my daughter as she devoured watermelon wedge after watermelon wedge, the shirt looked like a cross between a bar rag and a sucking chest wound.

Third shirt was a no-brainer. It was a thick-cotton, red-dyed Adams Ribs Smoke House T-shirt. The work was done. Nothing was left but the drinking, and the glimmering, but fleeting, glow of grilling glory.

Thanks to Lori and Jack (who never read this thing...) for throwing a smashing BBQ bash. I still think Jack was robbed. His ribs were perfect.

Reading for Comprehension:
1. I have mosquito bites. West Nile hasn't hit Oregon yet, has it??
2. I still have about 4 pounds of pork butt left. Who's hungry?
3. I was asked to tell the Daisy story twice tonight, why don't folks just read the blog?


  1. West Nile is all over Oregon. I am sure you will be dead within days.

    In all around judging, ribs should never take a whole cut. Ribs are their own animal. Ribs are the bacon of the barbeque world.

    Pork butt is good. Have you progressed to brisket?

    As for Daisy, I think you and Dave should co-write a novel about the Daisy character. I see a bright yellow cover that says “Daisy” with a 1960’s / Partridge Family simple single flower, and the subtitle, “Tales of a one armed stripper… “

    And on the shirt, I have much to say… I opted against jacking your blog on this topic.

  2. Wow - the phrases, "touch my monkey", "pork butt", and "Daisy the one armed stripper" - were all used in this blog - Kudos to you my friend!

  3. people don't read your blog because there's too much free porn on the internet.

  4. Anonymous12:32 AM

    I'm starving. I didn't get lunch or dinner today. What do I have to do for some butt?

  5. First of all, the pork ass was much better than the ribs. That's why I voted accordingly and why Jack was not "robbed" of anything. Either you are EXTREMELY gracious or very conscious of Jack's fragile little ego. Maybe both.

    Secondly, I'd heard the Daisy story even before Saturday night, but I'm GLAD you told it twice at the BBQ because it wasn't until the second telling that you mentioned she had a missing front tooth! What the--? Now, I recognize missing an arm is a bit more unfortunate than missing a front tooth, but you always stress how SEXY this woman was (really, it's quite creepy), and if only the Thalidomide had not interfered with her fetal development, then she'd rival top porn/stripper stars, etc. I was a believer until the raging gap in her smile was mentioned.

    FINALLY, I absolutely prefer the story of the stripper with the wad of toilet paper lodged in her -"craw" I believe you called it - for truly fantastic gross out stripper stories.


Be compelling.

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