Sometimes we’re let out of our cages to terrorize the city. Or at least stuff our faces with dead animal parts.

MEEEEEEAT FIIIIIIIIGHT!

Thus went the rallying cry at Meat Fight 2010. The Cheap Bastard end-of-summered our piggy faces off with a meat feast like nobody’s beeswax. Competitors from around the globe (that’s what I call the tri-neighborhood area) ponied (and pigged, and cowed) up their beefy wares, and the competition was impressive. Peep this brisket, ya’ll.

The winners took home some sweet “trophies,” aka “future family heirlooms.”

The commemorative cups were large enough to puke into after eating forty pounds of assorted beefstuffs.

Of course, I didn’t puke. I was in prime meat-gorging shape after doing driveway lunges for three-and-a-half hours pre-meat fest.

Nikki feared for my life, but I didn’t even break a sweat! And it’s is a fucking miracle, because I consumed enough barbeque sauce that it would have leaked right outta my pores. But so did everyone else, so instead of feeling disgusting, I just felt irrationally superior to everyone around me. But what the hell else is new?