Have you ever been sitting around and thought to yourself, “I think I’ll walk into a stranger’s house and smother barbecue sauce all over my body?”Mark
Gores

Well, a couple in Wisconsin (what are the chances?) heard a whistling noise and walked to their basement over the Fourth of July holiday weekend to find a man covered head to toe in barbecue sauce. Some things in life simply can’t be made up; the Barbecue Burglar is one instance.

In the ever-evolving era of self-protection, we have to have a family plan if there is a fire, tornado or a guy covered in Sweet Baby Ray’s whistling in the basement.

According to the report I saw at wwmt.com, the sauced-up intruder told the police it was urban camouflage. I have never spent unnecessary amounts of time in Wisconsin, so I’m having a hard time picturing what the urban scene is like if all you have to do to blend in is slather barbecue sauce all over yourself and whistle.

Before anyone feels bad for this guy for possibly having a mental issue or two and gets mad at me, know this: The burglar was using his camouflage to hide from the government because they had found out he was sharing secrets with terrorists. That’s how the burglar explained it. As far as I’m concerned, if you support the barbecue bandit, then you must support terrorism, too.

I wonder what secrets he was telling.

“Psst. Hey, Mr. Terrorist, if you need to sneak around in America, drench yourself in barbecue sauce and no one will ever see you. They’ve figured out how to detect the tinfoil hats. It’s all barbecue sauce these days. Let’s keep this one on the QT.”

Many thoughts go through my head when I read stories like the one about Barbecue Man. My first reaction is to think what I would do if I were in a similar situation. If I walked into my basement after hearing someone whistling and all I saw was a harmless guy covered in what appeared to be barbecue sauce, I think I would first ask if it was my sauce or his, because taking another man’s barbecue sauce is not cool. Then, I would tell him, “No, no, no. You’re doing it all wrong; I can still see you. It only works outside, and you are missing some ingredients. Let’s go outside, and I’ll help you out.”

I would, at that point, commence Operation: Clean My Cupboards Out and dump various goods that I swear someone secretly placed in my cupboards because I know I never bought pickled herring, sardines, Spam or Braunsweiger.

On the other side, what does the camouflaged man do when he hears the couple coming downstairs? He believes he is in camo, so when the light turns on, does he just freeze in the middle of the room and hope he blends in as sauce drips down his face?

Imagine his inner monologue.

“Ok, Aaron, it’s go time. You can do this. Just stand still and keep whistling and let the barbecue sauce do the rest. They’ll never see you.”

“Hey! What are you doing in my home?! And what’s all that crap dripping on my carpet?”

“He’s not talking to you. He’s not talking to you. Just stick to the game plan. Whistle and don’t move.”

I guess we should all be glad that this story didn’t have a tragic ending, and I, for one, am able to laugh (really hard) at the whole scenario. Even better than the chuckle I got, I now don’t have to worry what my Halloween costume will be this year. Move over, Hamburglar. There’s a new food-oriented burglar in town: The Barbeburglar.

 Mark Gores, a 27-year-old realtor, lives in Prior Lake with his wife, Emily. To comment on this column, call the editor at (952) 345-6378 or e-mail markgores@yahoo.com or editor@plamerican.com.