You’re the new family in the neighborhood. You’re planning on throwing a big backyard barbecue for everyone on your block, because you really want to make a great first impression on your new neighbors and there are some really nasty rumors floating around about you…that you only let your kids watch episodes of Father Knows Best on DVD and don’t let them use the interwebsnet for anything, even school, or you blindfold and beat them if they get a B on a math test, or you’re the ones who were shooting dogs and cats in your old neighborhood, including the tagged and registered ones, and grinding up their penises into a tonic because yours didn’t happen to work properly.
So you’re gonna throw this big soirée so the whole neighborhood can come over and see for themselves that rumors are all they are, and that you’re really a swell hybrid of draconian communist governance and unrestrained, exploitative capitalism bunch of people who you don’t have to feel nervous or queasy around, and you’re going to be great neighbors that your guests are going to want to get to know better. This party is going to be so awesome, so wonderful, so by-God (actually you don’t believe in God but pardon the expression) cozy that the assembled throng in your back yard won’t even notice the sulfuric runoff in your koi pond.
Obviously, the centerpiece of any good barbecue is the food, specifically the steaks. No doubt your guests will ooh and ah as you have the thick, pink, marbled prime cuts brought out from the kitchen and ceremoniously placed at the grill where you will commence the preparation of a delicious meal. Now, this presentation is where you set the tone. There’s a lot you could do here…have the wife carry them out on a silver platter (or the husband…just kidding! You don’t have much regard for the rights of womenfolk around your house.), or sprinkle flower petals along your path to the grill. Or maybe release some doves – people like doves; they’re peaceful and whatever.
Or, uh, yeah…you could hire a bunch of ex-military, cracked-out Hell’s Angels with poor impulse control to “escort” the steak to the grill and put any protesting vegetarians standing nearby in a nerve hold. That’s a good idea too.