I really don't know where to start with this one. If I were Tarantino, I'd start with me tearily, gaspingly watching MisterSatan taking four mincing steps to throw a camp chair into the inky, uncertain void beyond our firelight, and then bounce forward and back in time to episodically make a good story seem even more. If I were Christopher Nolan, I might start with SupremePizzaMan, MisterSatan, and I in the car bellowing, "Nerrbody in da club gettin' tips," and work backward in a series of interesting vignettes. I think perhaps that I'm more like Charlie Kauffman, that I tell stories in the most egocentric manner possible--a manner that reminds you of who the writer is and how clever he is as much as what he's writing.
MisterSatan and I started scheming to use vikpreZ's barbecue for our own nefarious purposes as early as Friday morning. However, work and throwing darts made this plan untenable. Thus, we decided on Sunday.
Sunday morning rolled around bright, clear, and perfect to 'cue. Being the control-freak gourmet that I can be, I unilaterally decided to purchase everything necessary for a good barbecue and get reimbursed later. After trips to Larry's Market, Whole Foods, and Uwajimaya, I only lacked garlic scapes, which were nowhere to be found in the entire fucking city.
I worked the five pounds of burger with Lee Kum Kee brand Oyster Sauce (per velocity's sage advice), coarse-chopped fresh garlic (in lieu of the scapes), sea salt, and fresh-ground pepper. Then I worked that into twelve roughly baseball-sized servings. I chopped the fresh, organic red onions, hothouse tomatoes, and red butter leaf lettuce. For cheese, I had both colby jack and this marvelous mild white cheddar with jalapenos.
I continued trying to rally the troops. MrDeity was unavailable when I called, and I so hate leaving messages. SupremePizzaMan was easy to convince--all I had to do was promise to drive him there and back. DreamMaker didn't answer his phone and then called me right back. The echoing toilet quality of his call told me what was going on, but he still had to give name to the horror that is a buddy calling you from the bathroom--fortunately only the shower in this case. He informed me that not only would he be coming, but Luminaire already had stepped up to give him a ride. I was very pleased by this but waved them off from buying more groceries.
SupremePizzaMan and I arrived fashionably late, but we were still among the first people to the 'cue. vikpreZ was already at least one full sheet to the wind, and possibly two. As we were just about to start the grill, jwoody and two friends arrived arrived, and we began to think that even my bratwurst, hamburger, and chips would run short.
Luminaire and I bit the bullet and returned to Safeway for more burger and pork chops. Oh, and another case of beer. Can't forget that.
We arrived back in time to witness vikpreZ attempting to blearily kick-start the barbecue with copious amounts of lighter fluid. This was both incredibly funny and terrifying. Finally, we managed to wrest the lighter fluid away from vikpreZ only to have Luminaire douse the conflagration one last time--nearly rendering Brad The New Guy "en fuego" as Dan Patrick would have it.
We called MisterSatan, but he demurred from making an appearance. We were sad, and I was tempted to call and harass him. However, respect for his wishes kept me from doing so. Then he appeared at the door scant seconds later, and we all decided that his little joke was well-played.
Finally with the pitiful amount of briquettes guttering and barely producing heat, we sent Luminaire in search of Match Light briquettes. He returned and applied the charcoal under my expert, beer-befuddled direction. Gazing into the roaring inferno that ensued when the first wave of butane soaked briquettes was applied to another set of banked, glowing coals, my only directions were, "Okay. Now add a few more. More. More. Watch that you don't get the bag on fire!" For the second time in the night, no one got hurt only by the grace of God.
Eventually, the fire settled down enough for me to begin cooking. SupremePizzaMan slung himself out in a camp chair across the balcony, and we continued to drink beer and soundly make fun of each other. Suddenly, SupremePizzaMan started writhing and screeching about bugs crawling on him and attacking his butt in the most Hunter S. Thompson of ways. Our laughter only intensified when the "bugs" turned out to be his errant cell phone. Then MisterSatan took what would be a momentous seat in the chair. I'm still not entirely sure why he was wearing a bike helmet.
I sent the first plate of food down and followed it several minutes later with my hands covered in beef juice. While washing, I took my due compliments from Adore, DreamMaker, jwoody, Brad The New Guy, and their friend. I also shuddred as I listened to them discuss trip hop without mentioning Thievery Corporation or Tricky or numerous other trip hop gods. Five PBRs skewed my ability to debate music, though, so I returned upstairs.
A few minutes before the second plate was ready, I heard stupendous grunting and turned to see MisterSatan writhing while trying to extricate himself from the rapidly shifting camp chair. He heard me start to snicker and bellowed, "Shuu-up," which is Hobo for "I do not appreciate your mirth. Please refrain from further commentary, else I will become wroth with you."
I was curled up against the balcony railing trying to get my breath back as I heard him finally gain his feet. I heard him daintily set his beer down, and then watched in mute awe as he took four mincing steps to the rail and heaved the chair into the inky blackness over the back yard with a bellow of, "Damn chair!"
I think I may have blacked out then.
As I came to, MisterSatan was calmly unfolding another camp chair and preparing to take the latest plate of food down. They passed vikpreZ at the door, and he was rightly concerned at our mirth. I started the next round of burgers and pork chops. I coyly played a guessing game with vikpreZ as to what we might have been laughing about. Finally, he realized that the camp chair was different. I was preceded down the stairs by bellows of, "What did you do with my chair?!"
At ten, I finally prepared by dinner. I made a monster burger and equally non-small beer bratwurst with all the fixings--including Sirracha Chili Sauce. As I was leaving, I heard Brad The New Guy muttering something about "mayonnaise on a bratwurst". I informed him that I was fully in favor of him going and fucking himself. I'm still the goodest of the goodwill ambassadors.
As I returned upstairs, I witnessed the pinch-cook, vikpreZ, managing to drop the tiny, savory pork cutlets through the grating on the grill. We managed to salvage four, and I painted them and the last few burgers with Stubbs' barbecue sauce. I did take the time to pelt one of the nearest neighboring houses with a huge baseball of ground beef. The sound of that was most satisfying. I also managed to throw and land an empty PBR can on the (clean) neighboring house's deck. I was a little ashamed. I was also a little worried when the resident happened to go out on the porch.
I also acquired a bike helmet to wear sometime during this stretch.
Finally, we had all the food cooked, and we almost dead on our feet. We looked at a few websites from YoureTheManNowDog.com as I packed up the stuff I needed to bring home.
Suddenly, Dreammaker asked for the person who first uttered, "Oops! I slipped into a tranny," to fess up. I sheepishly raised my hand. While SupremePizzaMan, MisterSatan, and I alternately screamed "DetecTIIVE!" and "Kevin SpaCEEEY!" and holding our fingers up (don't ask), we decided that I'm usually the source of most of the insane things we keep screaming. So when you hear us yelling "FIVE BUCKKS!" or "The day is mine," you're witnessing my handiwork. We also decided that MisterSatan was the source of most of the rambling, drunkenly incoherent things we say--albeit things like "shuu-up" were still popularized by my making fun of him.
Finally, MisterSatan, SupremePizza, and I loaded into my car to go home. On the way there, we started randomly yelling, "Nerrbody in da club gettin' tips!" I was most gratified to see that SupremePizzaMan had started a thread by the same name in SGSeattle. I dropped SupremePizzaMan off and finished my drive home. The last little bit of excitement was when a Redmond cop almost managed to rear-end me at a stoplight as he was trying to get close enough to examine my tags.
God, I'm tired just writing that all down.
MisterSatan and I started scheming to use vikpreZ's barbecue for our own nefarious purposes as early as Friday morning. However, work and throwing darts made this plan untenable. Thus, we decided on Sunday.
Sunday morning rolled around bright, clear, and perfect to 'cue. Being the control-freak gourmet that I can be, I unilaterally decided to purchase everything necessary for a good barbecue and get reimbursed later. After trips to Larry's Market, Whole Foods, and Uwajimaya, I only lacked garlic scapes, which were nowhere to be found in the entire fucking city.
I worked the five pounds of burger with Lee Kum Kee brand Oyster Sauce (per velocity's sage advice), coarse-chopped fresh garlic (in lieu of the scapes), sea salt, and fresh-ground pepper. Then I worked that into twelve roughly baseball-sized servings. I chopped the fresh, organic red onions, hothouse tomatoes, and red butter leaf lettuce. For cheese, I had both colby jack and this marvelous mild white cheddar with jalapenos.
I continued trying to rally the troops. MrDeity was unavailable when I called, and I so hate leaving messages. SupremePizzaMan was easy to convince--all I had to do was promise to drive him there and back. DreamMaker didn't answer his phone and then called me right back. The echoing toilet quality of his call told me what was going on, but he still had to give name to the horror that is a buddy calling you from the bathroom--fortunately only the shower in this case. He informed me that not only would he be coming, but Luminaire already had stepped up to give him a ride. I was very pleased by this but waved them off from buying more groceries.
SupremePizzaMan and I arrived fashionably late, but we were still among the first people to the 'cue. vikpreZ was already at least one full sheet to the wind, and possibly two. As we were just about to start the grill, jwoody and two friends arrived arrived, and we began to think that even my bratwurst, hamburger, and chips would run short.
Luminaire and I bit the bullet and returned to Safeway for more burger and pork chops. Oh, and another case of beer. Can't forget that.
We arrived back in time to witness vikpreZ attempting to blearily kick-start the barbecue with copious amounts of lighter fluid. This was both incredibly funny and terrifying. Finally, we managed to wrest the lighter fluid away from vikpreZ only to have Luminaire douse the conflagration one last time--nearly rendering Brad The New Guy "en fuego" as Dan Patrick would have it.
We called MisterSatan, but he demurred from making an appearance. We were sad, and I was tempted to call and harass him. However, respect for his wishes kept me from doing so. Then he appeared at the door scant seconds later, and we all decided that his little joke was well-played.
Finally with the pitiful amount of briquettes guttering and barely producing heat, we sent Luminaire in search of Match Light briquettes. He returned and applied the charcoal under my expert, beer-befuddled direction. Gazing into the roaring inferno that ensued when the first wave of butane soaked briquettes was applied to another set of banked, glowing coals, my only directions were, "Okay. Now add a few more. More. More. Watch that you don't get the bag on fire!" For the second time in the night, no one got hurt only by the grace of God.
Eventually, the fire settled down enough for me to begin cooking. SupremePizzaMan slung himself out in a camp chair across the balcony, and we continued to drink beer and soundly make fun of each other. Suddenly, SupremePizzaMan started writhing and screeching about bugs crawling on him and attacking his butt in the most Hunter S. Thompson of ways. Our laughter only intensified when the "bugs" turned out to be his errant cell phone. Then MisterSatan took what would be a momentous seat in the chair. I'm still not entirely sure why he was wearing a bike helmet.
I sent the first plate of food down and followed it several minutes later with my hands covered in beef juice. While washing, I took my due compliments from Adore, DreamMaker, jwoody, Brad The New Guy, and their friend. I also shuddred as I listened to them discuss trip hop without mentioning Thievery Corporation or Tricky or numerous other trip hop gods. Five PBRs skewed my ability to debate music, though, so I returned upstairs.
A few minutes before the second plate was ready, I heard stupendous grunting and turned to see MisterSatan writhing while trying to extricate himself from the rapidly shifting camp chair. He heard me start to snicker and bellowed, "Shuu-up," which is Hobo for "I do not appreciate your mirth. Please refrain from further commentary, else I will become wroth with you."
I was curled up against the balcony railing trying to get my breath back as I heard him finally gain his feet. I heard him daintily set his beer down, and then watched in mute awe as he took four mincing steps to the rail and heaved the chair into the inky blackness over the back yard with a bellow of, "Damn chair!"
I think I may have blacked out then.
As I came to, MisterSatan was calmly unfolding another camp chair and preparing to take the latest plate of food down. They passed vikpreZ at the door, and he was rightly concerned at our mirth. I started the next round of burgers and pork chops. I coyly played a guessing game with vikpreZ as to what we might have been laughing about. Finally, he realized that the camp chair was different. I was preceded down the stairs by bellows of, "What did you do with my chair?!"
At ten, I finally prepared by dinner. I made a monster burger and equally non-small beer bratwurst with all the fixings--including Sirracha Chili Sauce. As I was leaving, I heard Brad The New Guy muttering something about "mayonnaise on a bratwurst". I informed him that I was fully in favor of him going and fucking himself. I'm still the goodest of the goodwill ambassadors.
As I returned upstairs, I witnessed the pinch-cook, vikpreZ, managing to drop the tiny, savory pork cutlets through the grating on the grill. We managed to salvage four, and I painted them and the last few burgers with Stubbs' barbecue sauce. I did take the time to pelt one of the nearest neighboring houses with a huge baseball of ground beef. The sound of that was most satisfying. I also managed to throw and land an empty PBR can on the (clean) neighboring house's deck. I was a little ashamed. I was also a little worried when the resident happened to go out on the porch.
I also acquired a bike helmet to wear sometime during this stretch.
Finally, we had all the food cooked, and we almost dead on our feet. We looked at a few websites from YoureTheManNowDog.com as I packed up the stuff I needed to bring home.
Suddenly, Dreammaker asked for the person who first uttered, "Oops! I slipped into a tranny," to fess up. I sheepishly raised my hand. While SupremePizzaMan, MisterSatan, and I alternately screamed "DetecTIIVE!" and "Kevin SpaCEEEY!" and holding our fingers up (don't ask), we decided that I'm usually the source of most of the insane things we keep screaming. So when you hear us yelling "FIVE BUCKKS!" or "The day is mine," you're witnessing my handiwork. We also decided that MisterSatan was the source of most of the rambling, drunkenly incoherent things we say--albeit things like "shuu-up" were still popularized by my making fun of him.
Finally, MisterSatan, SupremePizza, and I loaded into my car to go home. On the way there, we started randomly yelling, "Nerrbody in da club gettin' tips!" I was most gratified to see that SupremePizzaMan had started a thread by the same name in SGSeattle. I dropped SupremePizzaMan off and finished my drive home. The last little bit of excitement was when a Redmond cop almost managed to rear-end me at a stoplight as he was trying to get close enough to examine my tags.
God, I'm tired just writing that all down.
VIEW 25 of 33 COMMENTS
mistersatan:
Are you... hitting on me?
vikprez:
BBQ...Saturday...May 1