Today's Fast-Fiction-Friday comes from a misled request for a favorite BBQ story. It's like 90% fiction.
I woke up from my liquor induced sleep. The sleeping bag did little to cushion me from the jutting stones on the campsite. There was the smell of burning wood and the chit-chat of my friends outside.
I wriggled out of my sleep bag, stepped into my shoes and shambled out to greet them. They were standing around the campfire with beers in their hands. A pot sat on a grate and flames feebly heated the chili therein.
My friend (let's call him Barry), went over the cooler and produced a plastic baggy of cold meat. He tore little strips of sliced ham and chucked them into the chili. We all looked him incredulously. Ham in chili? Someone inside of me snapped. Indignation transformed into rage and rage into a white poker of fury. I exploded! I launched at him and the ham flew into the campsite like a panicked pink bird. He was caught off balance so I was able to take him to the ground. We rolled and scuffled. When I was above him, he was unfortunately close to the BBQ. I grabbed him by his shoulders and smacked his face onto the fired grate. The acrid smell of burnt hair rose into the morning.
“This is your ham!” I shouted.
“This is your chili!!!” I screeched like a wild animal gifted speech and racking pain at the same moment.
My friends pulled me off of him. Barry patted out his burning hair and tended to his wounds.
Steve said, "Ham in the chili was a bad move."