I tried having a weenie roast in a bar once. They’d shut the grill down but I needed something to assist my stomach in keeping seven vodka gimlets under control so I set a stack of cocktail napkins ablaze, figuring that if I was polite enough to get the camp fire started then surely someone would be polite in return by bringing me some hot dogs and another beer. We’d sing some songs and make some new friends and everything would be just peachy. It didn’t work out so well. I’m a little fuzzy on the exact details, but I do remember a lot of yelling and judgmental name-calling before being sprayed with the soda gun. I woke up in a jail cell next to a woman named Big Missy who was wearing my watch and was then sent on my way with strict orders to return in one week for some silly trial, but I didn’t bother with that whole fiasco because who really wants to ever visit Utah more than once in a life time?