Ew. Yes, all that shark cartilage rotting on docks can now be shoved into your papa gullet, along with copious amounts of salt and red foodie BBQ-y chemicals that are bag and baggage of this, the NON-FOOD DIMENSION. I'd make fun of this silly '80s BBQ-y contraption till the hogs cried home, but the guy at Ludic Despair did such a better job. Da-da checks to the power.
If lightning strikes this thing, we're all hosed.
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