Earlier today I made a v simple observation:
That’s just a fact. All my snow shovel guys out there that made it back inside without having a heart attack… all those guys get a beef. To the old ladies out there responsible for that beef, fire up the crockpot. Hit the AL’s drive-thru or stand in line in Johnnies blah blah blah. Get your mans a beef. Get him several beefs (or beeves if you want to get technical). Just make sure there’s beef on the table.
That said, ladies, under no set of circumstances are you buying brats.
Or even entertaining the simple notion that a brat and a beef belong in the same conversation. No disrespect to brats or my sausage stuffers. You guys serve a v important spot in the food chain.
But your not Italian Beef, not by a long shot. Any problems you can take it up with my south side parking attendant buddy from Palermo’s demanding you tip him in beef. Save your $5. Just give him a beef.
It really is a special movement we got going in Chicago. Don’t ever feel like you can’t send me your beef. I’ll always want it. Just don’t piss on my head and tell me its raining brats. That’s goddamn negligence.