A few days ago my daughter uttered the words every Yankee-fearing father fears. No, not “Alex Rodriguez is my prom date,” as that’s not the kind of Yankee I mean. Plus, the littlest LeSwine is only two years old. But it was just as bad. My daughter said, quite clearly by toddler standards, “I don’t like eating barbecue.” What prompted this outburst? All I did was ask her if she was excited about stopping for a barbecue lunch the next day. Between this horrible comment and a couple of past occasions where she has spit out barbecue I’ve offered her, it’s off to the doctor today to get a paternity test.
Filed under: Porky's Pulpit |
BBQ Jew 
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