(An updated version of a previous post)
Now that it’s July 4th, a day synonymous with fireworks, people competitively shoving shitloads of hotdogs in their mandibles, and black people renaming it “National Cookout Day” - I feel the need to give all of you some constructive criticism when it comes to the coveted cookout. The proceeding critiques didn’t come from a few misguided shindigs that I may have attended here and there. They are ingrained in my DNA from growing up with a father who routinely wielded a two pronged fork like it was his Excalibur - and the bloody savages that his culinary swordsmanship tended to attract. If you are one of the aforementioned savages, the following advice is for you:
Bring a friend, not a fucking entourage: What was weird about my old man was that for as much of a hard ass he was, he’d routinely let his friends get away with damn near triple homicides in his presence. I can understand being invited to a cookout and bringing a person or two, but it always seemed like these uncouth band of merry men would cram church vans with as many like-minded people with an an agenda of greed and sloth that they could find to happily eat us out of house and home. I attended a friend’s cookout recently where someone had no problem violating the aforementioned hell-worthy trespass, with reckless abandon I may add. So I took it upon myself to put those savages to work, making them go on beer runs and such, even having them help cleaning up afterwords. Not to sound like a character in an old Western, but they were going to “earn their keep” that day. Again, bringing a person or two is fine - but any more than that just makes you a fucking savage. The DirectTV Announcer: “And you don’t want to be a fucking savage!”
What you bring becomes community property: How many times have you seen a person bring something to a cookout, lets say a 24 pack of beer, and then try to take the remaining cans of beer home with them when the festivities comes to a close? Sorry, but that is straight up savagery my friend. Once you bring anything to a cookout, unless its something in a fancy schmancy dish that you understandably aren’t trying to part with, it is no longer yours you filthy animal. (Unless the host insist that you take what’s left back to your place of residence) I really don’t see why some of this shit is so difficult for some folks.
For Christs sake, cover that shit up: The worst feeling in the world is going to a friend’s cook-out completely famished, ready to take a bite out of a live horse if its seasoned right, only to find every dish infested with flies because the neanderthal of a host failed to simply cover it up. Too many times I’ve felt the need to put on a fucking bee keeper suit just to walk by neglected plates of food simply because someone grew up in a household where germs are your friend. Cover the food up you fucking caveman, it isn’t that difficult.
Only if the Host says its OK: Similar to the “community property” example, the only time its acceptable to take a plate of goodies home with you is when the host insists. That’s it folks. Every time I see some unsavory bottom feeder cavalierly stacking their plate like they were playing “Jenga”, I want to walk over and smack the food out of their hands and dare them to do something. You’d think that people had better sense than that, but unfortunately they don’t - my otherwise faulty memory bank is filled with 30 years of vivid instances of people taking a healthy Number 2 on someone’s hospitality. If the host doesn’t suggest that you take some food home with you, keep your grubby little hands to yourself. You goddamn savage.