Imagine being born into a life of guaranteed strife.
And guaranteed, no bacon.
I would be pissed off, and probably a terrorist too if that were my fate.
No bacon. Ever.
Not with your eggs. Not on your burger. Not on your salad.
And imagine it wasn't just bacon, but all pork.
No streak 'o lean in your black eyed peas.
No Honey Baked Ham.
No baby back ribs.
And worst of all, no slow smoked pork barbecue.
This is the life of the Semites.
The descendants of Shem, the oldest of Noah's sons.
The Semites include Arabs, Jews, Ethiopians, and Canaanites.
And they all are forbidden to eat pork.
Thank you Jesus. You freed us from Old Testament law. Soooeeeyyy.
Where I grew up, in the great State of Georgia, we hold pigs in high esteem. Not as high as the folks in New Guinea who worship the pig. But high nonetheless.
We like our cows too. But they aren't sacred. Especially the ones that grow up to become homecoming queens at Auburn and chew their cud on Jordan-Hare's green grass.
But I digress.
A properly butchered, properly smoked pig does wonders for your outlook on life.
Have you ever seen anybody leave Sprayberry's or the Speedy Pig or The Rendezvous in a bad mood?
Big O, if you and Hillary can get the Israeli knuckleheads and the Palestinian knuckleheads to sit down for a real meeting, I suggest it be at the original Dreamland in Tuscaloosa.
Ribs and white bread. That's it.
Imagine a meal of Big Daddy Bishop's ribs versus a politically correct serving of hummus and Gefilte fish.
You would get those folks in such a good mood they might forget their pre-historic issues and start to talking about their similarities. Their joint sufferings.
And start to find a kindred spirit.
And a kindred love of barbecue.
The kind you can only find at a place like Dreamland.
That happens to be located in a part of Tuscaloosa known as Jerusalem Heights.