Black President. Undefeated War Champions. Eagles. Veiled Racism Oozing From Every Facet of Our Society. Freedom. Obesity. Independence. Red Meat.
America is, without a doubt, the greatest country in the known and unknown universes. Have fun debunking that in the comment section, nerds. You’re arguing with science. Have you seen Bill Nye and Neil deGrasse haters recently? They are all bummy and broke.
The only appropriate activity for July 4th is inviting friends over for a cookout. Ceremoniously grilling red meat is an allegory for how we killed all those red coats some 200-plus years ago. Today is a day when we band together and display our patriotism through the act of communal meat smoking.
Cookouts are supposed to be convivial bacchanals, and First We Feast is here to protect you from being that guy. Avoid being an archetypal doucheburger who ruins the festivities by taking a moment of reflect inwardly. If you feel even the slightest tingle of self-reflection at one of these fuccboi* profiles, change everything about yourself so that people will start to like you.
* A fuccboi, for those of you who don’t speak Internet, is a lame who makes life hell for the rest of us with his consistent lack of good judgment and common sense.
The Self-Proclaimed Grill-Master Fuccboi
This fuccboi is a veritable encyclopedia of grilling wisdom. That is, he knows everything about grilling because he spent a weekend while his girlfriend was out of town watching a marathon of Throwdown With Bobby Flay. He’s out here with elaborate homemade marinades that contain salmon milt and truffle oil. The only thing worse than this guy being the party host is him being a party guest. If he is the host he’s forced to stay at the grill, while you are free to stay as far away from the grill as possible and not talk to him. If he’s a guest, he’s going to be around the grill trying to improve every item with his vast knowledge of spices. Star anise, saffron, coriander… who knows what this guy keeps on his person for just such an emergency.
Obama to Flay: “Don’t be such a fuccboi, Bobby.”
The “Holy Shit, Someone Get This Guy Away From The Grill” Fuccboi
If your host is manning the grill and actively smashing down on burger patties with his spatula, marveling at the amount of flames he’s creating, you have to deliver a frighteningly powerful Stone Cold Stunner on general principle. He’s basically spitting on the flag. Smashing patties on a grill advertises to everyone that you wrote in “Al Qaeda” for president the last three elections. “Nah, man, the 5-foot-tall flames seal the delicious meat juices because of the added heat!” *Grabs Steel Chair, Swiftly Lands A Devastating Blow To Fuccboi’s Cranium*
The “Cook Mine Longer!” Fuccboi
If someone was nice enough to invite you over to her domicile and provide food, music, and camaraderie, the least you can do is shut the fuck up about any perceived flaws in your food. Red meat was never intended to be cooked well-done. Look at lions. Those things eat red meat straight up raw and can have sex with/kill anything in the world. A little blood never hurt anyone—that’s both my culinary and sex mantra, and I recommend you adopt it as well.
If your meat is a little undercooked, just hold your tongue and pray you don’t get botulism. Even if you do, you’ll still lose around 15 pounds, so be thankful.
You send a burger back to me to be cooked longer, and I’m replacing it with a charcoal lump.
“Here’s your ‘well-done’ burger, fuccboi.”
The Terrible Side Dish Fuccboi
It’s always great to bring a side; it’s a simple thoughtful gesture. But just because your backwoods, inbred family chows down on troughs of egg salad, that does not mean that normal people are trying to be anywhere near it. Your side dish is going to sit in the sun for hours, so if there is a chance that it will warm up and emit an odor that terrifies woodland creatures near and far, don’t make it.
Sides to not bring unless specifically requested:
- Macaroni Salad
- Potato Salad
- Tuna Salad
- Anything containing cabbage
Also, as a general rule, white people should stick to chips. Leave the green-bean casserole you made with frozen beans at home with your golden retriever.
First We Feast tip: Be friends with as many ethnicities as possible because A) Diversity is dope, and B) When you have get-togethers, you can invite them and reap the benefits of fried plantains or red beans and rice or coco bread or anything that doesn’t contain mayonnaise.
The Vegan Fuccboi
There’s nothing wrong with being a vegan other than the fact you are a walking affront to the almighty intergalactic deity who put us on this planet to eat meat.
Usually, the Vegan Fuccboi will not be that much of a fuccboi because he will have brought his own Boca Burger or Portobello mushroom cap or tree bark to toss on the grill. We’re cool with that—after all, cookouts shouldn’t be about you and your lifestyle choice. You brought your own food. Dope.
However, the other 30% of the time the Vegan Fuccboi is going to be aghast and offended that you didn’t plan to provide an alternative entrée. As we never happen to find ourselves frolicking in meadows, the thought will rarely cross a carnivore’s mind to have some lichens on deck for a vegan to suckle.
If you state that your Tofurkey dog can’t be cooked on the same grill as the meat, you will be given a single wooden match and a piece of tinfoil. Good luck.
May the ancient gods of fertility and frankfurters protect this grill from fuccbois.
The Zagat Fuccboi
If you self-identify as a foodie, that’s cool (and sad). You can be a foodie while out a restaurant that offers truffles basted in baby lamb tears for 30 days. But that pretension has to be left in your car when you arrive at a July 4 cookout. Do not bust up in the spot lamenting the paltry selection of cave-aged cheeses available to you. No one gives a fuck that you can run to the store and snag all the ingredients to make some Korean-style bo ssam. The host bought 48 hot dogs for $2 at Wal-Mart, and you are going to eat them. This is America’s day, and we will eat the same thing our forefather’s did: hamburgers and hot dogs of hella questionable origins/quality.
The Make Everything Difficult Fuccboi
Do not go to someone’s outdoor BBQ and complain about anything other than running out of beer. No one cares that the music may not be appropriate for kids (shouldn’t have brought them… probably shouldn’t have had them in the first place). Don’t put in extra complicated subclauses in your order like “I like one side of my burger to be charred to a crisp but the other side to be medium, and before you take it off the grill, poke a hole in it and stuff a few baby carrots in there.” It’s difficult to dole out fuccboi-isms when you have a beer bottle pressed to your lips. Instead of complaining, drink beer. That’s what my dad did, and he’s the least fuccboi-inclined man on this earth who is currently awaiting a liver transplant.
The Factoid Fuccboi
“Hot dogs are made of lips and assholes,” says the fuccboi to no one in particular.
We are celebrating freedom and the bloody sacrifices of millions of soldiers; do not attempt to educate party guests. Unless it’s a factoid about how to get drunk quicker/stay drunk longer, keep it to yourself. Everyone knows that hot dogs have pig buttholes in them—that’s why they are so tasty. Yes, the added carcinogens from the charcoal will give us cancer, but so will literally everything else. We aren’t trying to learn up, we’re trying to turn up.
Justin Roberson is @BauceSauce on Twitter. He has a pool in his backyard, so you can’t tell him nothing…fuccboi.