Hot Diggity

I stared intently at the hot dog as it fell and flopped lifelessly onto the pavement in front of me. With the power of the fall from my hand it propelled itself onto the road, where a speeding Honda Civic promptly ran over it and turned it into mush. What a horrible morning.

Hot dog hot dog hot diggity dog, that poor little thing lay down like a log, then a Honda Civic done turned it to fog. That Honda Civic went in a bog. Guess I’ll just go out for a little jog cause I’ve been sitting at home much like a fat hog.

Yet another year declared Hot Dog Summer, this time sponsored by Nathan's of Coney Island. Frankly, the novelty was wearing off. I mean, no one dislikes a good weiner... but are they really up to snuff anymore? I swear they don't taste the same as when I was a kid.

I knew what to do. There was a package of all beef franks buried in the garage freezer at my grandparents' summer home that had been there since 1988. Retrieving it, I took the hot dogs to the lab for a chemical analysis, comparing the '88 wieners with some I'd just bought.

Turns out a hot dog is just a hot dog. There was no difference whatsoever between them, in fact they were a perfect match with 100% accuracy. I drizzled some ketchup and mustard on the wieners. “Well begun is half done,” I remarked. Now to find some buns to go with those wieners.

But when I looked in the cupboard, there were none! Not a single bun left for my weiners. In fact, the only thing in the cupboard was a single sticky note, shaming me for my unconventional weiner-making, saying it was like putting the milk first. (Which is despicable, by the way)

No matter. I would make the hot dogs, buns or no buns. I am the master chef, I do not conform to your standards of hot dog making! I’ll write my own rules, thank you very much! Now, where was I? Oh yes, I was looking for the relish. I opened up the refrigerator door, only to find

an ornately wrapped box toward the back. Much to my surprise, I unwrapped a set of novelty hot sauces. I poured them on the dog and served it to my geriatric overlord. “Here you go ma’am,” I said, eyes watering. She was too old to detect the heat before consuming her final meal.