Bernie and I had already eaten lunch two hours previously, but John said that since we were in Atlanta, we had to go eat BBQ. He took us to a place called "Daddy D'z BBQ Joynt." "But John," we protested, "we're not hungry!" "Don't worry," he winked, "you'll have room for this."
We sat around waiting for the BBQ to start and after a while the bartender finally came out to the back patio with a whole cooler full of meat - but then they weren't able for the life of them get the grill going (they had a charcoal grill, but couldn't find the briquette chimney that makes igniting the charcoal really easy). A former teen-pyromaniac, I could only sit by for so long before offering up my assistance. I got that shit cookin', yo. And this guy thinks he's the Firestarter. Psssh.
