Attack of the Hot Dog Warrior
A Special Notice:
about these people in (below video). The people are all vegans, but they gave that lifestyle up to help raise needed-funds for the charity that they were working for. In all sincerity, "this" giving of one's self, impressed me. (Kenneth).
Good People Eating Hot Dogs For a Cause
Let's Face Some Facts
there are many times that the things in our world can be very mysterious, along with the sights and sounds that can torment me while I sleep. And please, do not tell me that these sounds in the night are made by the wind or some hungry tabby looking for grub. Now, I will concede that (your) assumptions are valid, but how does the wind open my kitchen door, eat a piece of cake at midnight (while I am fast asleep), then leaves and shuts the door.
Since those scary times, I have given-up on solving all of my Midnight Mysteries, because I can sleep much better. And to give you a free bit of advice: try THIS idea and see if it doesn’t work.
I Shall Never Forget The Day
when I first encountered this common-looking hot dog, (that we call in the south), and while I sat there at my dining room, I never got to thinking that “this” all-American food choice could ever cause me any problems whatsoever. In a minute, you will see that I was wrong. Very wrong. The reason that I used ‘very wrong,’ is because if a person is just ‘wrong,’ the transgression can be laughed-off and forgotten, but if you do something that is ‘very wrong,’ you best call in the National Guard, a few divisions of the Marines, and the local police who are about to meet their match with complete pandemonium.
My wife was busy in another part of the house while I sat at our dining room table and was preparing to eat this delicious hot dog because first off, I love hot dogs and second, I was starving. Both good reasons to make me hungry. And I was about to devour the hot dog that my wife had prepared because she is not a hot dog fan (like me), so I was all alone, utensils in hand, waiting to eat my hot dog just glaring at me.
Since Saturday Came
that meant one thing: good breakfast food, black coffee, some rest from my job, and time in my recliner with my eyes glued to whatever network was broadcasting the selected college football game. I couldn’t wait, and me munching my hot dog, bread, and coffee faster than usual wouldn’t make my wife angry since she and our daughter had already eaten because they were getting ready to hit the town with a day of shopping.
The football game to be aired in about an hour, time was of the essence, so I could afford to rush the hot dog, biscuits, and coffee faster-than-usual smack dab into my mouth.
Just let me say before I continue, that unless you haven’t dined at home at a Southern Saturday morning breakfast, in your dining room with your favorite foods just waiting for you to eat, then I feel sorry for you. I am very biased about my Southern roots, Southern cooking, and our Southern ways in helping neighbors and strangers who might be passing by who need our help. I sure wish that I could apologize, but do not look for it.
But my breakfast was almost finished and I checked our clock on the window and I had almost fifteen minutes before my ballgame. Being a considerate husband, I cleaned the table, put my paper plate into the trash and with no dishes to wash, all that I had to do was pour myself a teeming cup of black coffee, sit down in my recliner near our TV, and putting my feet up and ready for some relaxing football.
I Left Myself This
one treat that I always wait to eat that is last on my breakfast plate. It is the meat item that my wife knows that I love. On this certain Saturday morning, she had prepared a tasty hot dog for me to eat along with my delicious biscuits and hot coffee. In my words, a perfect meal for any Saturday morning. Just my biased opinion.
I took in a deep breath and posed my fork and knife ready to cut my hot dog into small pieces to make several bites so I could make my hot dog last longer and this one statement tells you of the poor rural background in which I was raised, because if we were ever blessed with something as hot dogs, they were eaten very little, but saved and saved and saved. The same for my mother making the best pies and cakes when the makings were available.
Now to my hot dog. Out of a pure reflex, I reached to make the first cut on my tasty hot dog, but as if the hot dog was trained by a Shaolin Master, it drew-up making a circle causing my fork and knife to hit my plate causing my face to burn with embarrassment. I sat there and thought. This cannot be happening. Then it hit me. My hot dog had not been taken long from the cake pan where Pam bakes my meat items (due to the diet that I am on) and the hot dog was releasing the heat from the body. I felt really stupid right now.
Then The Hot Dog Looked
as it were crawling slow-motion across my plate and right at this point, I was very concerned. Now over the past 65 years of life that God had allowed me to live, I can tell you that I had devoured several thousand hot dogs and even at my age, that activity was not going to change—even with the “Dancing Hot dog.” I was hungry and not that patient. Not a working mixture.
I used my left hand to stick the hot dog with my fork, but the hot dog made a swift move and rolled to the center of my plate to where my knife was waiting to get it ready to cut for my breakfast. But instead of the knife cutting the hot dog, it curved away from the knife blade and rolled over and over swiftly toward the end of my plate.
I had two options: one, call my best buddy for help, even though he would have laughed at me and two, I could call the cops. I didn’t want them to see this happening to me.
I have said this in a lot of my hubs, when you live in a small town, smaller than “Mayberry,” home of “Andy Taylor,” and “Barney Fife,” you learn quickly how to guard your own business and you do not want the incident that was unfolding with someone (as conservative) as I was to be doing battle with this hot dog.
Should I Take Time
to slowly use my right hand to gently take a hold of this hot dog and inspect it to see why it was moving so quickly and accurately. At this time I was happy that my wife and daughter were not at home because they would have had a big laugh AT me, not WITH me. I knew them well.
I took my right hand as I watched the hot dog remain stationary giving me time to catch hold of the middle of the hot dog. But before my fingertips could touch the hot dog, it was as if lightning struck and the hot dog jumped up out of the plate and landing near me at the closest side of the plate. Then I was concerned. And my imagination begun to kick in. I thought that this hot dog must be possessed and going to hurt me when I faint or have poison inside the outer skin so when I eat it, the poison will take my life. What to do? That thought kept surfacing. Then I began to sweat profusely. Frankly, I was scared.
Then, I remember a book that told me that “when your enemy is larger, smarter than you, surrender and live to fight another day . . .” but I was at least 20 times larger than this small hot dog, so what would my surrendering mean? Hopefully it might mean that I could live so the hot dog could escape or it wanted me to help it loose into my backyard. Maybe the hot dog would give me a big bale of cash for being so helpful. I told you that my imagination had kicked in.
The Battle Was Over
when I put my hands into the air and said in a normal tone, “Okay, hot dog of many moves . . .I surrender. Now what?” So I waited and waited for almost ten minutes or so and my hands and arms began to hurt and I was growing angry at being made to look so foolish and all of this degradation was not from a good buddy who was pranking me, but a stupid hot dog! That was it. A stupid hot dog! Surely there is more to this scene than meets the eye.
Slowly, I put my hands down. The house was still silent and I was still hungry. I also felt a surge of vengeance as I wanted to take “that” “Demon Hot dog,” eat it up and laugh when I finished, but my better thinking over-rode my sick thinking and I just sat and looked at the hot dog and watching to see what else it had on tap.
Was the next part coincidence or part of a master plan? As I sat there watching the hot dog, I heard an automobile drive-up. I got up and looked through the curtains on my kitchen door and it was my prankster good buddy whom we had known for several years and now I was growing very suspicious. My buddy lived aways off and why did he pick “this” morning to visit me? Or did he come to gloat at him pulling some elaborate prank on me?
Long story short, we embraced, shook hands and we drank coffee for an hour or so and talked shop for a while. Then I noticed “that” twinkle in his right eye, the same twinkle that I had noticed for over 15 years when he was ready to pounce on me or some other prey to pull one of his masterful jokes. I wondered was it me or maybe the hot dog had something to do with this scene.
My buddy walked into the kitchen and placed his empty coffee cup into my sink. Then he asked me what was wrong with my appetite. I answered nothing, and he quickly replied, “I have never known of you to leave a hot dog on your place—are you okay?” He was serious.
Then he let “the cat out of the bag,” when he took a tube of something that resembled toothpaste and said, “Here’s something that you can use to make your hot dogs taste just like hickory barbecue. Want to see?” Of course, I nodded yes.
He applied a drop or two on my hot dog and as I tried to pick it up with my fork, it jumped just like a grasshopper looking for safety from a hungry bird. He broke into a big laugh and in a moment, so did I. He had purchased the tube of something, he never told me, some sort of liquid that causes things to jump. He would never tell me how or where to buy it. He always loved to keep his pranks to himself.
As he left, I said, good to know. Yes, good to know.
July 19, 2019_______________________________________________________
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© 2019 Kenneth Avery