VFighteR
09-04-2010, 08:34 AM
Have a great Weekend fellas [8D]
THE TONG MASTER
Griff 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, Griff said yeah they really
need a turn. It was a unanimous turning decision.
Griff 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, Kevinnnnnn?.come. He stuck his head
in and said any room? We said yeah and began the barbecue shuffle;
Griff 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 Griff 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. Griff snapped his tongs with approval; there
was no greater barbecue honour.
PJ 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.
PJ 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. 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'd 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 until she was gone and sipped his beer. We sipped our
beer, yeah. Griff 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 heavily 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 Griff said as
he walked away from the barbecue, disappearing towards the house. Yeah,
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.
But only until Griff got back from the dunny!!..
THE TONG MASTER
Griff 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, Griff said yeah they really
need a turn. It was a unanimous turning decision.
Griff 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, Kevinnnnnn?.come. He stuck his head
in and said any room? We said yeah and began the barbecue shuffle;
Griff 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 Griff 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. Griff snapped his tongs with approval; there
was no greater barbecue honour.
PJ 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.
PJ 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. 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'd 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 until she was gone and sipped his beer. We sipped our
beer, yeah. Griff 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 heavily 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 Griff said as
he walked away from the barbecue, disappearing towards the house. Yeah,
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.
But only until Griff got back from the dunny!!..