Today we had a pig roast at work. Well, kind of at work. At Vint Hill. Which is like some Top Secret, out-in-the-boonies, random STG place where they store tanks and guns and shit.
Why a pig roast you might ask? Obviously, we cannot do anything at this company unless it revolves around some sort of massive food intake/dead animal ritual/obnoxious display of excess.
The only thing weirder than a roasting rump in Fall was the 12 year-old Hispanic priest that came with the CEO's family to say "grace" for everyone...except he speak-a-no-english and someone had to translate for him...except he was talking really fast and she couldn't listen and interpret at the same time...and it was aaaaawwwkkkkwaaarddd to say the least.
So, we did what we do best.
We feasted.
On this:
.
Ain't got nothin' on my mama's recipe...
.
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Enjoy!
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