An oldie but a goodie. I didn't write this, just found it in an old "Funnies" email folder. I've just Googled and full credit should go to Danny Katz, but the version I have has different names and additional bits so I'll copy all I had here, and state again quite clearly that I didn't write any of it and I'm not attempting to plagiarise or profit in any way. It's just bloody funny :)
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THE TONG MASTER
Jeff was at the barbecue and Joel was at the barbecue and
I was at the barbecue; three men standing around a barbecue, sipping beer,
staring at sausages, rolling them backwards and forwards, never leaving them
alone.
We didn't know why we were at the barbecue; we were just
drawn there like moths to a flame. The barbecue was a powerful gravitational
force, a man-magnet. Joel said the thin ones could use a turn, I said yeah I
reckon the thin ones could use a turn, Jeff said yeah they really need a turn,
it was a unanimous turning decision.
Jeff was the Tong-Master, a true artist, he gave a couple
of practice snaps of his long silver tongs, SNAP SNAP, before moving in,
prodding, teasing, and with an elegant flick of his wrist, rolling them onto
their little backs.
A lesser tong-man would've flicked too hard; the sausages
would've gone full circle, back to where they started. Nice, I said. The others
went yeah. Kevin was passing us, he
heard the siren-song- sizzle of the snags, the barbecue was calling, beckoning,
Kevinnnnn ...come.
He stuck his head in and said any room? We said yeah and
began the barbecue shuffle; Jeff shuffled to the left, Joel shuffled to the
left, I shuffled to the left, Kevin slipped in beside me, we sipped our beer.
Now there were four of us staring at sausages, and Jeff
gave me the nod, my cue. I was second-in-command, and I had to take the raw
sausages out of the plastic bag and lay them on the barbecue; not too close
together, not too far apart, curl them into each other's bodies like lovers -
fat ones, thin ones, herbed and continental. The chipolatas were tiny, they
could easily slip down between the grill, falling into the molten
hot-bead-netherworld below. Carefully I laid them sideways ACROSS the grill,
clever thinking. Jeff snapped his tongs
with approval; there was no greater barbecue honour.
P.J. came along, he said looking good, looking good the
irresistible lure of the barbecue had pulled him in too. We said yeah and did
the shuffle, left, left, left, left, he slipped in beside Kevin, we sipped our
beer.
Five men, lots of sausages. Joel was the Fork-pronger; he
had the fork that pronged the tough hides of the Bavarian bratwursts and he
showed a lot of promise. Stabbing away eagerly, leaving perfect little vampire
holes up and down the casing. P.J. was shaking his head, he said I reckon they
cook better if you don't poke them. There was a long silence, you could have
heard a chipolata drop, and this newcomer was a rabble-rouser, bringing in his
crazy ideas from outside. He didn't understand the hierarchy; first the
Tong-master, then the Sausage-layer, then the Fork-pronger - and everyone below
was just a watcher.
Maybe eventually they'll move up the ladder, but for now
- don't rock the Weber. Dianne popped her head in; hmmm, smells good, she said.
She was trying to jostle into the circle; we closed ranks, pulling our heads
down and our shoulders in, mumbling yeah yeah yeah, but making no room for her.
She was keen, going round to the far side of the
barbecue, heading for the only available space . . . the gap in the circle
where all the smoke and ashes blew. Nobody could survive the gap; Dianne was
going to try. She stood there stubbornly, smoke blinding her eyes, ashes
filling her nostrils, sausage fat spattering all over her arms and face. Until
she couldn't take it anymore, she gave up, backed off.
Kevin waited till she was gone and sipped his beer. We
sipped our beer, yeah. Jeff handed me his tongs. I looked at him and he nodded.
I knew what was happening, I'd waited a long time for this moment - the
abdication. The tongs weighed heavy in
my hands, firm in my grip - was I ready for the responsibility? Yes, I was. I
held them up high and they glinted in the sun.
Don't forget to turn the thin ones Jeff said as he walked away from the
barbecue, disappearing toward the house.
Yeah, I called back, I will, I will. I snapped them
twice, SNAP SNAP, before moving in, prodding, teasing, and with an elegant
flick of my wrist, rolling them back onto their little bellies.
I was a natural, I was the TONG-MASTER.
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