I don't want none of nothing, that you are bringing to the bbq. None of that nasty food. Not a plate of potato salad. None of the burnt chicken. None of nothing. I don't want it.
You want me to be one of your flavor of the months? A five foot nothing heartthrob with the frosted tips, and the washboard abs with all their hair plucked out? Well, I'm going to eat a twinkie right now instead.