in many ways the antithesis of real smoked meats and the
religion of true dry rub.
I have a wall full of awards, lots of prize money, and I enjoy
the camaraderie, while you can only sling shit, my lonely bitch.
And there's more quality dry rub in the house right now that you
will ever own in your pathetic lifetime.
I compete, sometimes I win, and I always enjoy the food and good
company, while all you can do is sit in filth and stalk people
who are better than you. That's who you are.
Or at least the ability not to drown your charred ends in
whatever saucepan debility defines the day.
I don't sauce burnt ends, my clueless wannabe-stalker bitch.
Go lay down somewhere.