I guess since the rest of the year is so miserable, people in Chicago barbecue the SHIT out of the warm months.

My biggest challenge is remembering that not every backyard bbq is cause to eat cheddar bratwurst.
Especially after a few beers, when I think (with astounding clarity), why the hell WOULDN'T I take every possibility opportunity to eat cheddar bratwurst? Am I fucking CRAZY? And then I eat four.

I do not really eat four.

(uncomfortable silence)

Besides beer and cheddybrats, yet ANOTHER wonderful thing about barbecues is the inherent ability to play word games with each barbecue-related event name.
HeidiQ, Mastro-BQ, Mime-BQ.

Sadly, the time for Mime-BQ at Tai's place got moved and I can't make it.
Me: Nutso. No BBQ for Me-BQ.

Tai: Boo-BQ.

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