Sunday Sidewalk Surfin': No Bun Intended

I can't help it, but I take hot dogs personally. I don't like to get on a soapbox much here on ssspunerisms, but I guess I'm about to. When someone eats a chicken wing or thigh, it is clear that an animal is being consumed. But a hot dog? Each one is an anonymous death on a roll, no indication whatsoever of who or what it was before it became smooth and pink, briny and bulging and bellybuttoned at the tip. And that just makes me so, so sad.

The dang shape doesn't help either--it's just so freakin' archetypal, so caveman, so primal… Who knows what sort of switches that eating something even vaguely resembling a schlong triggers in the subconscious mind? It's the same way that you often can't help staring at breasts, no matter your gender or age or sexual preference. They represent mother/lover/safety/pleasure--whatever thrills you, whatever kills you, you know? And would more or less hot dog-eating make for a better, more peaceful world? That not even Oscar Meyer could answer.

So, for all intents and purposes, and to put this poor blog post out of its misery, let's pretend this photo is of a dapper but sleazy tofu pup, hitting the town in style with his twin buns.  Oh crap, all I wanted was to find a few words to go with something funny I saw on 22nd Street earlier today and it sounds like I'm describing Charlie Sheen.

Meezer Monday: I Knead You

You can tell by the angle of the ears on his big moon head--Derrick was not pleased when I took this photo. It seems I was interrupting his special private time with the new pillow, purchased earlier that day.

I should have known said pillow would cause trouble. Right as I was paying for it, some guy cut the line and started fondling it. "That's an interesting texture on that pillow," he said, groping and stroking the faux fur. At first I was pleased at myself for finding a bargain on such an obviously attractive item (16.67--marked down from original price of $50!), but then I started to think about boundaries, and how I have trouble knowing where they ought to start and stop--and alas, I think they do start at pillow-fondling at Macy's. You want an un-fondled pillow, ya know--or at least if anyone's gonna fondle it, he's gotta have red ears, four legs and a tail.

So yeah, anything plush and soft--i.e. the bumper car-shaped bed he stole from Bing--are clearly tactile Pines for Derrick. He kneads these objects like crazy, spreading his toes wide, rumbling, mumbling and drooling all the while. At least the guy in Macy's didn't do that.



Based not on personal experience but the range of comments on all video versions of this next song: If you're 14 years old or a guitar geek, the intro will blow your mind. Otherwise, just play it over and over while, uh, vacuuming.