RIP BBQ

The sun is shining and birds are chirping. The winter gear is finally packed away. It’s time to enjoy some fresh air, gardening and BBQ at the local cemetery. (Tires come to a screeching halt.) Did she just say BBQ at a local cemetery? Wait, that’s not normal? No, of course it isn’t normal. I know that. You know that. Yet, every year a cemetery in my town hosts a chicken BBQ. You don’t believe me?

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It is a drive thru BBQ, a fundraiser for something, though I have no idea what. I have never purchased a meal. Call me crazy, but passing grandma’s grave to pick up a scoop of cole-slaw seems slightly disrespectful. It’s just convenient because there is a circular driveway. Well, of course there is a circular driveway. There has to be a way out otherwise people would be driving over headstones. There is also a sprinkler system, but we don’t bring the kids to play in the water.

What happens if you want extra potatoes? Take a left at the World War II veteran’s grave, but if you reach the freshly dug hole you’ve gone too far. I would lose my appetite much like I did on a recent trip to the zoo. Our guide was suggesting places to enjoy our bagged lunches. “There are benches inside the giraffe exhibit.” Yum! Nothing tastes better wIth a peanut butter sandwich than the smell of hay and giraffe poop. I have got to say the BBQ in a cemetery is worse. I would rather starve to death than eat chicken that was grilled near the dearly departed.

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