Friday, June 28, 2013

The Needler Sticks It to Me

Apparently, my household ban on Auction Meat did not extend to Auction Grills. Here is Hick's latest auction acquisition.

Do not speak to me of proper lighting, photo composition, focal point, or damaged retinas. I shall whip out my smarter-than-me phone, cypher over it for ten minutes, succumb to vertigo looking for the pic-snapping button, and inflict these images on you as I please, by cracky!

So what if I captured a comet at the moment it landed on my back porch deck? I ain't braggin'. Never mind the Terminator 2 metal cop style doors on this bargain of a gas grill. Sixty-dollar purchasers can't be choosers, you know. They'll take their $350 value and worry about the non-functional flaws later.

Perhaps you're wondering about that attachment in the lower left, under the grill proper. No, it's not a bonus Auction Meat attachment. Nor is it a raccoon tail to flap behind the grill as you wheel it from one location to another to avoid sun, wind, and rain. Nor some tasty road kill garnered by all that wheeling. Nope. It's a cat. Not a good cat, mind you. A mailbox cat. The one that had the giant hole in her chest that warranted a vet visit. She's still basically wild, but will slink up to the breezeway edge every now and then so I'll scratch her misshapen ears while she waits to be let into the garage to consume mass quantities of dry food while turning up her nose at the occasional mouse. Cats are odd ducks.

Like Renee Zellweger as Ruby Thewes despises a floggin' rooster on Nicole Kidman's front porch in Cold Mountain, I despise a gas grill. I stop short of popping its head off and puttin' it in a pot, though. I am not a fan of gas. Though those around me might argue the point. I don't want a gas furnace, a gas fireplace, gas lanterns, a gas generator that kicks on as soon as the power goes off, and especially, I don't want gas canisters, aka bombs-waiting-to-explode, cooling their round metal heels on my breezeway, baking in solar energy from sunrise to sunset, with a two-hour break at noon.

That said...have you seen my new gas grill?


  1. That second-to-last sentence made me out of breath as I read was so long.

    Jeeze. It looks like it could move around on its own, and take over your household...and not in a good way.

    It reminds me--the sinister qualities of it--of HAL of 2001: A Space Odyssey fame. What acronym-istic name could you give to this new gas grill, I wonder...

  2. Much nicer than the one currently on MY patio. Fire it up and start cookin'.

  3. joeh,
    For a dented gas grill bought for sixty dollars at an auction, it is acceptable.

    Stop saving your wheeled tank of oxygen for the casino, Madam, and strap on your mask before reading. I shan't adjust the length of my sentences for those who grow lightheaded while vicariously experiencing the life of Val. it the sentence, or the grill, that could take over my household? Perhaps if you would express you opinions in lengthier sentences, Madam, I would know what to fear during my next home invasion. Forewarned is forearmed. Will I need a grammar primer, or a blowtorch?

    I, too, was conscious of the lack of nomenclature for our newest family addition. After sleeping on it (the name, not the grill), I have decided upon Gassy G.

    I fear that our two round black kettle Colemans will revolt.

    Yes. We have already broken in Gassy G with a pre-4th feast of Save A Lot bratwursts and hamburgers. Mmm. My compliments to Gassy G and sometimes-gassy Hick.

  4. I say charcoal any day, but that is not what the big guy would say. He grills it, I eat it. You got a goood deal, actually.