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The original was posted on /r/maliciouscompliance by /u/thefarzin on 2025-03-30 01:09:35+00:00.
the original post is in r/pettyrevenge. i tried to share it using the share button, but unfortunately, the button doesn’t work. So, i decided to add a couple of comments to the post since people had asked me about it before.
hope you like it!
so last summer, i’m at this neighborhood BBQ—sun’s out, beers are cold, and i’m ready to flex my smoked ribs game. think tender, smoky perfection that steals the show. it’s a chill potluck vibe, but then this dude—let’s call him karen—crowns himself grill overlord and lays down the law like he’s guarding the holy flame.
“no one uses the grill but me,” he says, flipping burgers like he’s on a cooking show. “one dish at a time—mine first, then maybe you get a shot.”i’m standing there, cooler in hand, like, “bro, it’s a huge grill—can’t i just toss my ribs on the side? they need time.”“nope. one at a time. my rules.” he’s smirking, so i bite my tongue. alright, karen, let’s see how this cooks.
he does his burger thing, taking forever, while my ribs chill in their marinade. crowd’s eating, but i’m plotting. his turn’s done, he waves me in, “go ahead.” here’s where i get petty—and a little sneaky. i’d smoked the ribs at home for a couple hours that morning—low and slow, 3-2-1 style, but just the first stretch. wrapped ‘em tight, brought ‘em ready to finish. not fully precooked, just prepped to win. i fire up the grill, slide the ribs on, and sneak a foil tray of applewood chips in the corner. smoke rolls out—thick, sweet, pure temptation. karen’s over there, chomping his burger, when heads start turning. “what’s that smell?” people wander over, noses up, drooling already. i’m brushing sauce, all chill, “just ribs—takes a bit, hope that’s cool.” his burgers? yesterday’s news. the mob’s around me now, begging for a taste.
he storms up, “you’re smoking out my grill!”“one dish at a time, right? i’m just following orders.” i flip a rib, smoke curling like a victory flag. he tries to elbow in, “let me cook”“nah, my turn’s still going. your rule.” i stretch it—tending the ribs, tweaking the chips, chatting up the crowd about “low and slow magic.” takes over an hour, and by then, karen’s reign is ash. everyone’s piling ribs, raving, while his burger tray sits there, sad and cold.
night ends, host slaps my shoulder, “dude, you own the grill next time.”“say less.”
karen thought he’d rule the BBQ, but i smoked him out with a half-cooked plan and a whole lotta petty. prepped the ribs early? sure. worth it to watch him choke on his own rule? hell yeah.