Men and Barbecues

It is important to study the etiquette of this outdoor cooking ritual, as it is usually the only type of cooking a real man will do – probably because there is an element of danger involved. When a man volunteers to do the barbecue, the following chain of events is put into motion:

1. The woman buys the food.

2. The woman makes a salad, prepares vegetables, and makes dessert.

3. The woman prepares the meat for cooking, places it on a tray along with the necessary cooking utensils and sauces, and takes it to the man who is lounging beside the grill – beer in hand.

4. THE MAN PLACES THE MEAT ON THE GRILL.

5. The woman goes inside to organize the plates and cutlery.

6. The woman comes out to tell the man that the meat is burning. He thanks her and asks if she will bring another beer while he deals with the situation.

7. THE MAN TAKES THE MEAT OFF THE GRILL AND HANDS IT TO THE WOMAN.

8. The woman prepares the plates, salad, bread, utensils, napkins, sauces and brings them to the table.

9. After eating, the woman clears the table and does the dishes.

10. Everyone PRAISES THE MAN and THANKS HIM for his cooking efforts.

11. The man asks the woman how she enjoyed her night off and, upon seeing her annoyed reaction, concludes that there’s just no pleasing her.

A plane crashed in the middle of rural Tennessee.

Panic stricken, the local sheriff mobilized and descended on the farm in force.
When they got there, the disaster was clear.

The aircraft was totally destroyed with only a burned hulk left smoldering in a tree line that bordered a farm.

The sheriff and his men entered the smoking mess but could find no remains of anyone.

They spotted a lone farmer plowing a field not too far away as if nothing had happened.

They hurried over to the man’s tractor.
“Hank,” the sheriff yelled, panting and out of breath. “Did you see this terrible accident happen?“.
“Yep. Sure did.” the farmer mumbled unconcernedly, cutting off the tractor’s engine.
“Do you realize that is the airplane of the President of the United States?”
“Yep.”
“Were there any survivors?”
“Nope. They’s all kilt straight out,” the farmer answered. “I done buried them all myself. Took me most of the morning..”
“President Obama is dead?” the sheriff shouted.
“Well,” the farmer grumbled, restarting his tractor. “He kept a-saying he wasn’t… But you know how bad that sumbitch lies.”