Pass the Pork Rinds

So, our number one concern going into this trip? That we'll go into the trip as fairly normal, reasonably healthy individuals and come out of the trip as two shapeless tubs of goo needing dual coronary bypasses. As I've discovered in planning for this trip, the United States interstate highway system is not a very healthy place to be. First, there's the fact that almost all the "restaurants" are actually going to be of the McDonacoBellKingJuniorintheBox variety. Then there's the fact we're going to be a whole heckuva lot of time either (a) sitting in a car, (b) eating, or (c) sleeping. In other words, not much time (d) burning calories.

But making things far worse will be the fact that we're going to be spending a lot of time in the Midwest and in the South, where all food is apparently legally required to clog your arteries.

Exhibit A: Bub Sweatman's in Holly Hill, South Carolina, home of the "Sweatman's Fried Pig Skin" plate:


Actually, my favorite thing about that place is just knowing that there's a guy named "Bub Sweatman".

Exhibit B: Interstate Barbecue in Memphis, Tennessee, home of the barbecued spaghetti...


...As well as a most excellent mural:


I particularly like how they draw the interstate crashing right into that pig's neck fat.

So, anyway, if we end up dying of heart attacks before the end of our trip, you'll know who's to blame. That's right, Bub Sweatman and the pig with the neck fat.