I was fertilizing my roses with some kick ass mother fucking deadly chemicals that make those roses bloom like a mother fucker when I notice my neighbor leave for the Dollar Store to buy his FRS Energy drinks. I think he’s an athlete, maybe even plays for the Lakers.
Anyway, he left his garage door open and since I’m a good neighbor I went into his house to steal something. As soon as I walk in, holy fucking shit, I smelled the sweetest smell in the world. Better than cotton candy, even better than cheese from a cheese pump if you can believe that. What I smelled was BEEF BRISKET slow cooking in a crock-pot.
Knowing he’ll be at the Dollar Store for at least an hour I snoop around and find exactly what I need to get the brisket back to my house and feast – a giant zip-loc bag and a six ice cold Stella Artiois beers. (btw, that Stella Superbowl commercial sucked)
I have the 6-pack of Stella in one hand and the brisket zip locked in the other hand and can’t wait to chow down when that fucking goofy looking Laker pulls into his driveway. Fuck! He didn’t go to the Dollar Store, he picked up a hooker or his girlfriend, I can’t tell the difference. I jump behind his couch the same time he and gf/hooker walk in. They immediately start watching TV. I’m thinking two things; One – thank god he didn’t check his crock-pot. Two – why are they watching TV and not fucking in one of his 12 rooms. I mean, shit man, this guy’s house is huge and he has to sit on the same couch I’m hiding behind? Asshole. I’m rooting for the Clippers now.
I’m dying behind the couch because that brisket looks and smells so good, then it hits me. I have a fucking cell phone. So I give him a call and tell him his girlfriend just pulled into his driveway. I guessed the chick was a hooker and I guessed right! He hides the hooker upstairs and while he’s up there I slip out of his fucking mansion faster than shit.
I make it home, quickly drink two beers because that’s the proper way to prepare for potentially great beef brisket, then I slice off a piece of brisket and guess what - The. Best. Beef. Brisket. Ever. He’s the Banksy of crock-potting. I immediately get the beef sweats, and that only happens when I eat great mother fucking beef. I also decide to keep rooting for the Lakers.