Squalor BBQ is appearing the world over – from Olathe, Kansas all the way to Lenexa, Kansas – looking like it came straight out of Joe’s Grubby Stupid Hands in the Squalor Closet in Lawrence, Kansas. Why aren’t they taking cues from Kansas City, Memphis, or whatever other city thinks throwin’ so much meat down on a plate counts as cultural cuisine?

Good barbecue should be so packed with salt and fat that you briefly stare death in the face before dry-heaving in your bathroom for an hour and a half listening to the Final Fantasy V soundtrack. Good barbecue should be like 1,400 calories on one plate. Good barbecue should have like a… like… mash potato thing with some lettuce on the plate somewhere for some reason.

All of those definitions were, at one point, kismet. Or, whatever that means. I want to say “set-in-stone” but I’m also trying to stay under word count. But all of those definitions were set-in-stone before Joe Bush came along and revolutionized how he defined barbecue.

“Well, it all started when I ate at Fiorella’s Jack Stack in Martin City, Missouri, back in 2015. I ate like a pulled pork thing, had a lot of sauce and stuff on it and some bread, and I think a brisket thing too? It’s been a while. It had the cheese corn on the side and that’s some good stuff, the beans were also great, I probably really should’ve just stuck with the beans and cheese corn because the meats caused immense sweating and intestinal pain for the rest of the night.”

Joe’s been a mediocre vegetarian guy since like fall 2015. “Meat makes my stomach hurt ever since I had a surgery back in 2010,” he says, so he doesn’t eat it unless he wants to hurt his stomach, which is rare but does occur.

“Anyway, so, yeah, I decided to make my own spin on barbecue, which was basically cutting up and deconstructing a McChicken and putting it on the dirty pan, much like I would were I serving a cranky child. The popcorn’s tasty and made in a microwave, and the peanut butter’s like a garnish or something, I don’t know.”

The meal pictured is the “Number 3” at the original “Squalor Barbecue” in Storrs, Connecticut, the fictitious restaurant that I just made up for the purpose of this jokes post wherein I interview myself. The menu’s simple, and recursive, but everything’s delicious.

Soon, squalor barbecue will expand, or exist, at least, and I can’t wait to see what comes out of it. Hopefully more garbage on a plate.