Mhm-hm.

You know, I tell ya what, Bobby—there’s a lot of folks out there nowadays makin’ a whole mess of noise about charcoal grilling like it’s some kind of ancient ritual passed down by cavemen who forgot about taste, convenience, and the Lord’s gift to man: propane.

Now don’t get me wrong, I respect a man’s right to choose how he wants to cook his meat—but when I see somebody spending twenty minutes tryin’ to light up a sack of Kingsford like they’re Moses beggin’ the Lord for fire from the heavens, I can’t help but shake my head. I mean, come on now—by the time your coals are “white hot,” I’ve already grilled four burgers, seared a steak, and cleaned the grates with a wire brush I bought at Strickland Propane for $4.99.

Propane is clean. Propane is efficient. Propane is—dang it—American.

You wanna talk flavor? I can get flavor. I marinate. I use wood chips. I use indirect heat. I don’t need to eat a burger that tastes like the bottom of an ashtray to feel like a man. That ain’t flavor, that’s soot. And don’t even get me started on the mess. With charcoal, you gotta wear gloves like you’re handling uranium just to dump the ashes. With propane? Flip a knob. Boom. Fire. Just like God intended.

Now I hear these hipsters talkin’ about “authenticity.” Authenticity? I drive a Ford pickup, I pay my taxes, and I know what medium-rare looks like. I don’t need authenticity from a bag of black rocks.

Listen—I sell propane and propane accessories, not because it’s a job, but because it’s a calling. You ever hear a charcoal guy say that? No sir, he’s too busy lookin’ for his chimney starter.

So if you want a grill that listens to you like a loyal hound dog, that fires up when you ask it to, and doesn’t leave your backyard lookin’ like Chernobyl, then propane is the way, the truth, and the light.

Yup.