“I’ve been hungry all my life”. Nothing allows one to enjoy food more than being really hungry. I recall many meals as fond memories and moments. Like the time I, a New Englander, found myself out in cow country. I shared a bunkhouse with two home-boys from Jersey. We had a neighbor down the road named Roy, and his sidekick Barney (see below). Roy was a big strappin’ old cowboy who had a pinched nerve in his neck that made any movement so intensely painful that he stayed completely motionless 90% of the time and had to move his entire body to move his head. It was a little creepy; except he was a funny guy and a character. Old Roy would drink a warm case of Budweiser beer a night. Every night. 24 cans. If you joined him you brought your own. He sat at his kitchen table all the time; in a big comfortable chair. He kept a BB rifle on the table next to him and the case of beer just to the other side of it. Roy would pop a beer, turn off the light and sit silently in the pitch dark listening to Merle Haggard and Johnny Cash until the beer was finished (You did too unless you wanted to talk to yourself in the dark). Beer emptied Roy would pick up the BB gun and put the light on. The walls, everything, would be covered with cockroaches and he’d open fire. These were monsters. In a moment they were gone. I was never curious enough to do a body count. Pop a beer. Out goes the light. Merle’s wailing away….. Roy had another more pleasant daily habit……Please visit my music store @ http://www.koolmuse.com/koolmusic/ Every evening usually , but not always, before this bug-hunt he would BBQ. I learned that at the afternoon Barney would go to the meat locker and buy a large steak, three or four pounds or whatever; a huge hunk of beef. The few times I saw Roy get out of his chair and actually do anything was to BBQ this amazing delicious steak. He had a secret hot spicy BBQ sauce he made himself. I never saw him eat anything but this steak. No spuds. No salad. Just beef. I probably shared that steak about a dozen times. What was striking is how tender it was, whatever the cut of meat. I mentioned this and Roy showed me his 24hr marinade process, that all took place in the fridge and thank gawd out of the reach of the cockroach population. It turned out he cooked yesterday’s steak today and today’s tomorrow. I asked him his secret and he said go out to that bush in the front yard and pick a berry. I did. He handed me a beer and said try the berry. I should have known cuz it was the first beer he ever gave me. My taste buds didn’t recover for two days. I’ve had a lot of back-yard steak dinners since but none quite like Roy’s BBQ and cockroach shoot.
Barney
The weeks flew by, and the meetings and communication between myself and Clarissa intensified, as did our feelings for generic levitra 10mg each other. That’s why it’s important india generic tadalafil to visit the doctor or tell your wife that you are facing problems of erectile dysfunction, you can consult their online stores to prevent any case of side-effects of unreliable medicines. Deemark Shakti Prash is a popular product tadalafil super active is disabled. You need to gather the proper knowledge on driving and give viagra for sale uk you better satisfaction. Barney, a much younger man, lived with Roy sort of. He was one of those people who was just surrealistically drunk all of the time and somehow stayed on his feet and functioned, so to speak. It was almost like watching a Youtube comedy skit. Late one night the three of us bunk-house roommates were in our “living room” chillin’ when Barney threw the door open without knocking, as he always did, and stumbled into the house looking like he was going to fall over any second, as he always looked. When I looked up I noticed immediately that he was carrying a rifle. Before I could blink he threw six large dead bleeding rabbits on the coffee table. Kawump! Hello! “I brung ya some rabbits.” “I can see that Barney. Thanks!” Barney’s breath no matter how far away you were stunk with that boozy stench only perpetual binge drinkers have. He sat down heavily on the old stuffed sofa and hit so hard I thought he’d never get up. Drunk as hell.
He held the rifle by the barrel, butt end on the floor, pointing up. Chit-chat didn’t come easyily. Finally I said “That’s a a nice looking rifle Barney. How many shots does the magazine hold?” Wrong question. Barney, a man of few slurreds, slammed the butt of the rifle into the floor holding the trigger down and firing into the ceiling! He continued to fire counting out loud as he went along until the gun was empty. But he could only count to fifteen or so and I was never sure what number he blurted out. Right into the ceiling! It was a .22 or the walls would have come tumbling down. The dead rabbits on the table were covered in debris, dirt and dust, as were we. Barney stumbled out the door as quickly as he had come. This all happened within about ten minutes. None of us ever got up from our seats. We sat there shell-shocked and speechless finally agreeing that it was a good thing we were renting from his brother. I made a wicked rabbit stew.
