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When I was younger, probably about fifteen years old I was given the heavy responsibility of barbecuing the steaks for my family who was arriving at 6:00pm from a long drive to visit. At the time I jumped at every chance I could to show some responsibility. The family arrived at about 5:45pm so after telling my relatives that I would be the master chef today I began to  prepare the steaks. I seasoned them, and beat them to tenderness with a  mallet. At last it was time to throw them on the bar-be. Four steaks would fit on the grill at a time but not only did I want  to show my steak cooking qualities I wanted also to show my proficiency. I  put one to many steaks on the grill and when it fell to the ground my little dog Bart ran after it. So I chased Bart I wrestled the raw steak away from   him. I then dipped it into the swimming to rinse off all dirt and dog   particles and threw it back on the bar-be-que. I served that steak to my dear uncle Henry that warm July night.  Every time he commented on how good the steak was I shivered. To this day he does not know what his steak had been through. And he never will!

From The Dog's Mouth To My Uncle's

Terry McGee
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More Lies About Food!
More Lies About FOOD!

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