Should Old Butt Rubs be forgot?

Should old butt rubs be forgot,

and never rubbed again?

Should old sauces be poured out?

they might clog up the drain.

For clogging up the drain my friend

Is not for what they're ment

For clogging up the drain my friend

Is a sauce that that's badly spent

Should old butt rubs be forgot,

and never rubbed again?

Not if you want the finest ribs

that ever graced a plate.

Happy New Year!

Watch the Rebels Tomorrow at the Cotton Bowl!

'Twas the Night Before Christmas - BBQ style

Courtesy of "I Smell Smoke"...

`Twas the night before Christmas and all through the tent
Not a creature was stirring – all were spent.
The knives were laid out on the counter with care,
A haze of sweet smelling smoke filled the air.
Then what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a big, scruffy guy, holding a beer.
His beard was red and oh so thick,
I knew in a moment it wasn't Saint Nick.
And more rapid than eagles his team members came,
As he shouted "I Smell Smoke!!!" and each team member's name.
And so out to the cooker the team members flew,
With their arms full of lettuce and curly parsley too.
To the cooker he came with a leap and a bound,
He was dressed all in flannel and his belly was round.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And pulled out the meat, then turned with a jerk.
He filled the container with piles of pork,
Slices and strands, which he pulled with a fork.
And I heard them exclaim, as they always joke,
Bring the judges our meat – I Smell Smoke!!!"

Carlotta
ISS!!!

My brother can' fly, but he is bullet proof

When I was about 5, and my brother Matt was about 3, we used to get up every Saturday morning at 6:00 to watch Superman on WREC-TV out of Memphis. Because he had a Superman suit, my brother believed he could fly just like Superman. I wasn't stupid. I knew he couldn't fly, and I told him so. He didn't believe me, and one day, he stacked up three footstools. He climbed up on top of them. He must have been about 3 1/2 or 4 feet in the air. He stood there, insisting he could fly just like Superman. I told him he could not fly, and we went back and forth for a while until finally I said 'ok, prove it!'. He dove off the footstools, and I was right. He couldn't fly. He gave it a good effort...perfect form..arms straight out in front...absolutely prone... and he landed on the hard linolimum floor flat on his belly. It shook the house so much that mom looked over and saw Matt laying on the floor turning blue.

How does this relate to barbeque, you must be wondering. Here's how. When you go to the diner at the place where you work, and the chef proudly tells you that he's serving barbequed pulled pork, you just need to eat it. Quietly eat it...and smile a lot. What ever you do, when the chef asks you how you like it, tell him you like it just fine. Sometimes, it doesn't pay to tell folks something they don't want to hear. Let them believe what they want. If they don't know that you can't barbeque in a gas oven, don't be the one to tell them. It will only piss them off.

Back to Matt...just after he dove off the footstools, Dad walked in. Dad managed to get Matt to breathing again, and Mom wore my ass out for...for...well, I still don't know why I got my ass beat. What I do know is that later, when Mom was holding Matt, and he had his head laid on her shoulder, he looked over at me. His blue eyes were really set off by the Superman suit. He looked at me with tears still in his eyes and softly he said "Bullets will bounce off of me."

I let that one go.

A Dog's Life

I first met Nellie when, after drinking for a few hours at CW's house, Landi and I had to attend a function at the Big Fat Head's house. The Big Fat Head was what we called the head of school that our children attended. We had never been to the Big Fat Head's house before. It wasn't hard to find, and we parked among the other cars and walked into the house....the wrong house. Into Brother Jeff's house, who was quite surprised to see us. And we determined at that moment that Nellie was much more of a 'greeter' type dog, than a guard dog. Nellie was happy to see us too. So after petting Nellie and chatting with Brother Jeff, we left, walked next door, and staggered into the function. We both would have prefered to stay at Jeff's petting his dog and drinking his liquor. Nellie passed away last spring.

Spanky first greeted me with an abrupt package check. I don't remember exactly how many years ago it was, but it certainly caught me by surprise at the Christmas party. I'll not say that he was a chronic crotch sniffer, but I suspect that Spanky became acquointed with everyone at the party. I had a good time watching Spankey do the 'nose' thing. The expressions on the faces of the unsuspecting guests were just priceless. Spanky wouldn't be much of a watch dog either. He was happy to see everyone, and I suspect that everyone was happy to see him. Spanky passed away last week.

Buckwheat was imported. He arrived in New Jersey on a flight from Memphis in Janurary of '95. Jordan picked him out of a litter of 8 in an Arkansas town so small that the only building in town had collapsed back in the 50's and no one had bothered to build it back....but this place was still a town. Just ask either of the people who lived there. Buck lived a life of leasure. He used the pool more than any of us. He took naps where ever and when ever he wanted to. He taught Catfish to pee in the yard, and to turn around 3 times before laying down for a nap. He did make it tough to potty train Catfish. According to Catfish, it was Buckwheat who was putting poop in his diaper. Buck passed away in September.

Someone once said that if we are lucky, we find maybe two good friends in the course of our lives. I am quite sure that this person never had a dog. Nellie, Spanky, and Buck all were our good friends. They listened to us when we need to talk. They comforted us when we were sad. They danced through our lives without ever contemplating their own mortality. and left us with only smiles and fond memories.

Let us each strive to be the person these great friends thought that we were. May they rest in peace.

Rehab is for Quitters

It's December. For hard core barbeque folks, it truely is the winter of our discontent. It's damp, and cold, and it's going to get damper and colder before it gets warmer. That's the bad news. The good news is that finally, after two months of limping around bitching about my knee, I have had my knee surgically repaired....by a real doctor...not one of the mail-order imported surgeons.

It took a while to get it done because between my thyriod and my blood pressure, the doc's weren't real excited about knocking me out to do it. So, finally we got enough alcohol out of my system that my thyroid values appeared ok, and my blood pressure got right, and the doc opened my knee up and poked around in there with a stick and it is all better.

So, today I start rehab. I have always said that rehab is for quitters, but this isn't that kind of rehab. I can take bourbon....or....let me rephrase that...I am taking bourbon to rehab. This isn't one of those deals like one of my Arkansas buddies had where they took turns on who would bring the beer to the AA meeting. This is knee fixing re-hab, which means they don't have any qualms about bourbon. In fact, if they expect me to put any weight on this wobbly ass knee, there is going to have to be a cocktail at the end of the damn rainbow.

Finally, as we draw nearer to the superbowl, just a heads up.....the party is on. The whole team is invited. I'll send a general invite out later. By supersunday, I should be walking without a cane, crutches or limp....unless Landi breaks my other leg.

May the force be with you....

-Bill