Western Beef
So for some reason I’m having trouble uploading all my photos onto my website, so the Denver wrap-up mega post will have to wait until tomorrow. But I can tell you that I ate somewhere between 10 and 15 pounds of red meat in Denver. That’s all they eat there. Or maybe that’s just all my friends eat. But Good Lord, that was a lot of meat. Burgers, steaks, tacos, ribs, chicken-fried steaks, chops, chicken-fried tacos. My chest feels like it’s been twisted with a giant pipe wrench and then stuffed with hot coals. That’s a metaphor for heart burn! And, oooohhh, how it burns! Last night I could barely choke down the 42 oz. strip steak I ordered. I would have just asked them to wrap up the leftovers, but if you eat the whole steak at this restaurant you win a pony. And I wasn’t about to lose a pony. So I finished the steak. Then I took that pony, rode him right into a barbecue pit, and ate him for dessert. His name was Cinammon and he was delicious.
Seriously, my chest hurts just from typing this. Is that normal? I’m just going to assume it is. Oh, in other news, it appears I have gotten even fatter over the past week. All of my pants are near the breaking point. On the bright side, I no longer need to wear belts. So that’s nice. On the less bright side, I’m a bloated fatty who can only fit into two pairs of pants. It is a good compromise.
Okay, I’m going to get some heartburn medicine. But I hate the taste of it so I think I’ll wash it down with a couple of sausage links. I learned that trick from when my dog had gout.
