What up Asshats? The ol' Scoutmeister is changing his tune on Summer in Chicago. Years past (and I can only recall 2 thus far, though my ability to comprehend passage of time is limited to nonexistent) I would get all aggravated and frustrated with the heat. In case you can't tell, and if you can't tell you're an asshole, the Scouter has a thick mane. Upside is that bitches
swoon over this shit. You should have been on my St. Patrick's Day walk. I could fucking see the tears and wistful look on dad's face as ho after drunken, slutty HO made a huge fuss over me and my Hollywood hair. Hey dad, smart move waiting to get Scout after you were already married. But coming from the same guy that still tries to take my bone out of my mouth even though I've bitten him like infinity times for it, I'm not surprised. I told these chicks, "Listen bitches, those commercial dogs get made over for hours. But I look like this straight out of fucking bed every day." That is totally what I said to them, even though it looked like I was just licking their faces and trying to "shake" despite them never asking me to shake. But Scout digresses. Right around Summer Solstice time (and fuck you, I know what the Summer Solstice is. For whatever reason I'm compelled each and every Summer Solstice to take a 1/2 dump in the same spot, walk three full circles and one semi-circle, then take the other 1/2 dump and salute the sun while emitting a low growl. Don't ask me why, it just happens) mom and dad go planning this whole barbecue hullabaloo over at SHQ (Scout Headquarters). Grandma was invited, which pumps the Scoutmeister right the fuck up. Grandma has this awesome habit of bringing stuff to Scout in this animal hide carrying device she hangs from her shoulder. For whatever reason, lately she's taken to only bringing something very occasionally. I'm unsure how many more visits I'm going to accept that bullshit before she finds her animal hide carrying device covered in Scout's piss. The other guest of honor was dad's high school buddy Jeff. Jeff never brings me fuck all when he comes over, but I still think he's pretty cool. First off he's big, and I like big people. Never really psycho-analyzed why I like them, I just do. And Jeff goes out on our balcony every 45 minutes or so to enjoy these white, cylindrical human treats that you have to set fire to one end before you begin eating them. He lets me come out on the balcony while he does this because I'm fucking fascinated by these things. Dad sets a plate of these massive raw meat discs he overpaid for at Whole Foods out on the counter and then we both go out on the balcony and light the grill (I'm totally awesome at lighting the grill, makes my whole day). We come back inside, pound a brew, have a few laughs, typical barbecue shit from what I understand of them. Now this is when mom and dad make a CRITICAL mistake. Grandma and Jeff were talking and mom was in the bedroom with that miniature humanoid that apparently lives here full time now, yet brings absofuckinglutely nothing to the table, once again wasting all sorts of time bundling up its dump and cleaning it off since it apparently hasn't figured out how to scoot its ass across the lawn yet. Dad then goes outside to check the temperature of the grill. Custom is the Scouter does this task with dad. However I knew that now was my time to strike. I make straight for the counter, jump up on that fucker, and put the chomp to raw meat disc number 1. We're talking no chewing, no victory barking, no sniffing around the bush. Just raw meat getting crushed. I took one look over the counter and see dad walking back in from the porch, yet he doesn't see the Scoutmesiter. My window is closing but not yet shut. I make a move for raw meat disc number 2. I want to do this as discreetly as possible so I pick it up and fling it on the kitchen floor. I'm trying to savor this one a bit, even had thoughts of washing it down with the Cabernet Sauvignon dad had poured into the decanter. But I heard dad's loud-assed brutish footsteps (I prefer to prance noiselessly. It is a total showoff move, but such is the poodle side of my lineage) approaching, so casting decorum aside I begin bolting this meat. Dad rounds the corner just as I force the last gulp down. He instantly goes into hilarious and pathetic antics, yelling "Scout NO!" even though the meat is already in my stomach. He takes the plate containing the other two uneaten meat discs into the bedroom to show mom and the humanoid "....What that asshole Scout did!". You're goddamn right Scout did it mutherfuckers! And I'll do it again if you are stupid enough to leave me in that situation. Look at it! Scout did it! Then dad's all like "Scout, get in your kennel!" Fucking laughable mein! Yeah dad, that is the last place I want to go: somewhere quiet where I can lay down and digest the entire fucking pound of raw meat I just ate. Please oh please massa, not the kennel! At this point Jeff and Dad have to race out of the condo to get more raw meat discs, shooting ol' Scouter menacing glares the whole time. Only guess what these fucking geniuses do? The entire time they are at Danger Dominick's buying Section 8 replacement meat, they leave the grill burning. So they come back, throw the meat on, and when it is 1/4 cooked, the propane runs out. I can't even make this shit up dude. Now everyone is in a total panic, blaming me for the whole shootin' match. And honestly, I don't give one half of one fuck at this point. I'm in a world of hurt trying to digest this pould of beef. Fucking food coma like no one's business. I wanted nothing more than to yarmouth violently. But I held it in like a man...couldn't give them the satisfaction of saying "I told you so!" as the Scoutster whistled beef all over the condo. All in all I fucked this barbecue 6 ways to Sunday. And even though I didn't shit right for a week, Scoutmeister isn't so bearish summertime anymore. Give me a call anytime you're planning to grill, I'll happily come over and fuck up your cookout.
Red Meat! Nice one!
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