Mmmmmm, pork butt.

I don't want to write about Donald Trump today. I write a lot about Captain Ouchie Foot/Colonel Fuckknuckle/Precedent Shitgibbon/ Grandpa Ramblemouth. I know I've worn out my welcome with posts about him. He is exhausting. Unfortunately, "he's still yo prethident."

I don't want to write about advertising either. I always come off as some grumpy cranky pants yearning for the old days when we swung for the fences, made clients nervous and stayed at business hotels, with fully-stocked minibars, that cost $400/night.

I don't want to write about the travails and responsibilities of senior care giving. Though I will warn you, that shit is expensive. And not very pretty. And it's coming up on you like college tuition bills for your kids. Suffice to say, you better be prepared and you better start doing your homework and saving money because if you want your parents to be able to watch HBO, they charge for that. If you want them to have clean linens, they charge for that. If you want them to have a certain flavor of ice tea, they charge for that.

I don't want to write about my neighbor's damn feather-sensitive, jet-loud car alarm, that seems to go off just as I start drifting into REM sleep and have a co-starring role in a cinematic dream with Scarlet Johannsen. I hope a meteor falls on his damn "rig."

I don't want to write about the 6 figure jobs my two college graduates would be working now that they're out of school. I could swear I saw that mentioned somewhere in the college brochures.

I don't want to write about any that. Because right now my mouth is watering and ready to dig in to the second round of pulled pork that I smoked on the Traeger yesterday. Oh yeah. I was up early, at 6:15 AM, thanks to the DefCon 1 Alarm sounding next door. So I made a beeline towards my fridge and took the mammoth 7 lbs. hunk of swine goodness out of the fridge.

I carefully patted it dry. And layered on a thick sheen of kosher salt, brown sugar, and a special secret porky rub, known only to me and the few thousands visitors to the Traeger aftermarket website.

When the temperature reached 225 degrees, I placed the bowling ball of flesh in the center of the grill and inserted the MEATER™ (a wifi driven meat thermometer given to me by one of my barely above the poverty line daughters.)

At 5 hours and 46 minutes, the temperature hits its target of 160. I carefully removed the butt/shoulder (an oxymoronic butcher's term) and brought it inside the kitchen to be wrapped in foiled and bathed in apple juice/bourbon and more bourbon.)

It returned to the smoker for another 3 1/2 hours. Did I overcook it? Yes, yes I did. Because I had the time and I wanted the meat to fall apart with just a whisper.

And it did. I can't begin to tell you good it tasted. Or even how much there was.

But I suspect it will last us well into next week, so I might give it another try.