Have you ever been to a gay BBQ?
No? Good because all their hotdogs taste like poop!
Ted and his wife were working in their garden one day when Ted looks over at his wife and says: “Your butt is getting really big, I mean really big! I bet your butt is bigger than the barbecue.”
With that he proceeded to get a measuring tape and measure the grill and then went over to where his wife was working and measured his wife’s bottom.
“Yes, I was right, your butt is two inches wider than the barbecue!!!!”
The wife chooses to ignore her husband. Later that night in bed, Ted is feeling a little frisky. He makes some advances towards his wife who completely brushes him off.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
She answers: “Do you really think I’m going to fire up this big-ass grill for one little weenie?”
Barbeque–it’s the only type of cooking a “real” man will do. When a man volunteers to do the ‘BBQ’ the following chain of events are usually put into motion.
- The woman goes to the store.
- The woman fixes the salad, vegetables, and dessert.
- The woman prepares the meat for cooking, places it on a tray along with the necessary cooking utensils, and takes it to the man, who is lounging beside the grill, drink in hand.
- The man places the meat on the grill.
- The woman goes inside to set the table and checks the vegetables.
- The woman comes out to tell the man that the meat is burning.
- The man takes the meat off the grill and hands it to the woman.
- The woman prepares the plates and brings them to the table.
- After eating, the woman clears the table and does the dishes.
- Everyone praises man and thanks him for his cooking efforts.
- The man asks the woman how she enjoyed ‘her night off’ and, upon seeing her annoyed reaction, concludes that there’s just no pleasing some women.
Why don’t Mexicans BBQ?
The beans fall through the grate.
As the coals from our barbecue burned down, our hosts passed out marshmallows and long roasting forks.
Just then, two fire trucks roared by, sirens blaring, lights flashing. They stopped at a house right down the block.
All twelve of us raced out of the back yard, down the street, where we found the owners of the blazing house standing by helplessly.
They glared at us with looks of disgust.
Suddenly, we realized why………we were all still holding our roasting forks with marshmallows on them…