Honkin' on Bobo

If you’re stranded in an airport for several hours and you haven’t eaten, and you haven’t any money, do not, I repeat, DO NOT sit next to a barbecue joint when they fire up the smoker and the pig goes to sizzlin’!
Due to some misguided notions by hysterical ground staff at Austin Bergstrom Airport the other day, I missed my original flight. My carefully planned and coordinated day was dismally upended whereupon I found myself stranded for several hours in LAX unable to make my meetings I’d planned that morning and afternoon in Los Angeles, all before reaching San Jose’, my final destination that evening. Little did I know how uncomfortable my situation was to become.
Passing the time best I could, investigating other items on my agenda that needed tending to, I did the unthinkable, unknowingly sitting right around the corner and downwind from a barbecue restaurant. While caught up in the pursuit of musical gems and enjoying a Henry Miller rant the pungent smells of cooking meat began to waft my way and the carnivore in me wasted no time in baring his fangs. I immediately went to drooling like a dog who craves human food but just can’t quite get at it. My taste buds screamed, “My kingdom for a rib! Just one motherfuckin’ rib!” but my pocket book wouldn’t allow it, not having prepared for such a beguiling scenario. And I suffered. Badly.
I wanted my baby back baby back baby back... even though I’m better off without her.To make matters worse, the masochist in me wouldn’t allow me to move either. Murder was on my mind. The Neanderthal, Cro Magnon being that resides in my ancient DNA took over, and for a minute, everyone passing was a potential meal.
Thankfully, everyone was spared and as I cruised at 28,000 feet I found myself amazed that mere pretzels could be such a mouthwatering delight. No substitute for a rack of baby backs to be sure, but in my case, they worked their own unique brand of culinary magic, the beast in me appeased.
The smell of those ribs being smoked tingled my olfactories for days, and being I was thousands of miles from a decent joint the gnawing craving turned into pure torture for one who appreciates -as I do- a get down feast piled high with all manner of dead flesh done to a turn.
If I should ever find myself in that predicament again -I shudder to imagine- I won’t hesitate to slaughter the first young child who passes too close. I will build a bonfire with the bodies of ruthless, inconsiderate baggage handlers, unimaginative cell phone users, irascible security personnel, and slowly smoke a tender thigh to perfection right there in the gangway. Hell, I’ll even share! Won’t charge my fellow travelers a dime.