Just drive, she said
I need to finish writing about what happened at Platte City (nothing), but I'm not in the mood. I am minutes away from sneaking out to go to the Royals game tonight, I'm listening to the Cubs/White Sox, and therefore not really focused on anything. Except baseball and ballpark food and Old Style and peanuts and yelling worshipful idiocies at Mark Grudzielanek. I should just leave.
Fine dining. The finest.
I don't even have anything to write about. Not barbecue related. I might smoke some meat Sunday, but who knows. There could be a hangover involved.
Here's three butts and a Hemi:
Sara's still in London. So I'm slowly losing my mind. I think the furniture is laughing at me. That's not a good sign, is it?
I think there's a kraken living in our lake. I'd catch it, but I'm not sure how to cook kraken. Any tips are welcome. More on this later.
A seafood rub? Or beef?
I'm leaving.