*hi, steaks.

JBSH, never one to be satisfied with my boyfriend, the carbohydrate, insisted on accompanying the fry fest with the world's biggest ribeyes.



Which initially seemed like a terrific idea to the local cavemen, but after 17 courses of oil-soaked delight, it somehow lost its luster. But JBSH soldiered on, intent on slapping those slabs of flesh onto the range, which ALSO features an indoor grill.



Sick, man.

JBSH gobbled up the steaky goodness, stalked by a faithful, four-legged shadow. To the persistent go the spoils: JLB consented to hold the sweet sweet treasure so that J could devour it without digestive peril.

The rest? Was a blur.

Dainty at first ...



then focused.



Then ... rabid behind the eyes.



Tongue.



Teeth.



His jaw may have genuinely unhinged, there.

I'm happy to report that JLB's fingers survived this exercise. I fear J is planning to evacuate the Woodside for greener pastures on the Bonita. If he ever emerges from the cow coma.