mrs-roboto's Diaryland Diary

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A Little Story About Earl

Whew! A whole week since my last entry. Where does the time go?

Well, most recently my time has been sucked up by our new Char-Griller Smokin' Pro (seriously, go check this bad boy out). It's the manliest barbecue I've ever laid eyes on. Just standing near it causes hair growth on my chest and makes me want to belch loudly while scratching my privates. It's also causing me to contemplate the wonders of smoking. Sure you can smoke pork and fish and beef and chicken but what about smoked veggies or fruit? In fact, I contemplate almost every item I put in my piehole now for it's smokeability. Can one smoke lettuce? How about radishes? What about this TV dinner? How would that taste smoked? How about Otter Pops? This is like the time I discovered my neighbors outside pipe to his oil furnace and started dropping things into the opening to see where they went and how much I could shove down the tube. I fed leaves in, then sticks and dirt, and finally I went for my Barbie dolls. End result was about $1000.00 in damage (and Elmer never speaking to my family again) but what can you expect when you leave something like that lying around unlocked where a curious 25 year old can mess with it?

The Char-Griller Smokin' Pro is the first non-gas grill I've owned in my adult life. You see, I am a sucker for speed and, not to sound like Hank Hill, but I love me some propane and propane accessories. You want a burger, you flip a switch and five minutes later, you're chewing on cow flesh. This kind of convenience cannot be beat. But let's face it, propane does not deliver the kind of taste sensations a charcoal grill/smoker does. After some debate, Pete and I made the decision to switch to this less simplistic method of food preparation.

Last Friday we left work early and headed off to a certain home improvement establishment (that I will not name but here's a clue - it's begins with an "L" and ends with an "owes") to purchase the new grill. I had called ahead to make sure our baby was in stock and I was assured by a certain sales associate (his name begins with a "B" and ends with an "rad") that they had plenty. Now, I don't put a great deal of faith in my fellow humans especially ones that work at a certain place that begins with an "L" and ends with an "owes." You see, I've had bad experiences there before including a certain huge lumber purchase where upon returning home I realized that every piece of cedar that had been loaded into my truck while I was at the register was actually birch and belonged to another customer. So I asked this certain sales associate to double check and forty minutes later he came back on the line and said "ma'am, we do have that shower head you were asking about in stock." With my confidence at all time high, I headed down Highway 99 to get me a Smokin' Pro.

We were in luck! The Smokin' Pro was prominently displayed in the Gardens and More section.We stood and stared then whistled at her beauty. We lifted her hood and checked out her innards. Every part of her was built for searing flesh and drinking bourbon. It was then that I realized she wasn't a she. She was an Earl or a Bubba or possibly a Nash and we were in love. Off I went to find a sales associate and a mere day later I returned to find Pete exchanging catfishing tips with the Smokin' Pro.

"The guy who assembles the grills has the rest of today off," said the Pimpley Sales Boy. "You wanna take this one here on the floor?" I didn't see an issue with this. An assembled grill means we'd be eating grilled stuff sooner, possibly that night! "I'll roll it up to the register for you," said Pimpley Sales Boy. He then began to push and smash Earl into every other grill within a city block (yeah, I just decided on Earl). But Earl's tough and there was nothing to fear. He knocked those silly Webers out with a one-two punch. Sunbeams went down like dominoes. Earl emerged without a scratch. Pete and I stood proudly next to our prize fighter waiting for the cashier to ring us up. It was then that Pete spotted a certain sticker that read "If you can read this sticker, your BBQ has been assembled incorrectly and should not be used. Will cause injury." Oh Pimply Sales Boy, get your boney ass back here, please.

"Can you explain this sticker," Pete asked.

"No," said Pimply Sales Boy. "Maybe it means that the grill has been put together wrong?"

"Yes," Pete said. "I'm pretty sure that's exactly what it means."

"Oh, well the guy who assembles these things puts together hundreds a day."

"Wouldn't that mean he'd be able to do it correctly," I asked.

"Apparently not," replied Pimply Sales Boy.

Yes, apparently not. To make an already long story just a tiny bit shorter we got a new Earl, still in the box and brought him home, where we assembled him from scratch. And when I say "we", I mostly mean Pete although I held stuff and passed tools and talked a lot about smoking stuff. Earl is now sitting out on our back patio, glistening in his vegetable oil coating, all cured and ready to go. So if you need something smoked, just give me a holler!

7:58 p.m. - 2004-06-09

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