As I write
this, it is July 19th, one of our nation’s most sacred holidays. Today is
National Hot Dog Day. However, by the time you read this, the special day will
have come and gone. I hope you remembered this wonderful holiday and celebrated
it like all true Americans by calling in sick to work and enjoying a hot dog
omelet for breakfast, a heaping serving of franks and beans for lunch, and a
few grilled wienies with mustard and sauerkraut for dinner.
If you missed
this holiday on the 19th, a part of me questions your patriotism, but mostly, I
feel sorry for you. But don’t despair, you can have a belated celebration — and
avoid being called before a congressional committee investigating Un-American
activities — by calling in sick to work right now and enjoying a hot dog omelet
for breakfast, a heaping serving of franks and beans for lunch, and a few
grilled wienies with mustard and sauerkraut for dinner.
News reports
cite figures from the National Hot Dog and Sausage Council, which claim that
Americans will eat approximately 7 billion hot dogs during the summer season —
from Memorial Day weekend through Labor Day.
Those news
stories prompted two immediate thoughts: first, there actually is such a thing
as the National Hot Dog and Sausage Council? Wow, I wonder if they’re hiring?
My second
thought was: 7 billion?! Really? I love hot dogs more than life itself, but
that number seems awfully high. If you divide the number of people in this
country, about 320 million, into 7 billion, that works out to almost 22 hot
dogs per person during a 14-week period. Of course, one-and-a-half hot dogs per
week in no big deal for someone like me. But there are millions of people in
this country (including the lovely lady to whom I’m married) who wouldn’t eat a
hot dog if they were starving and it was the last morsel of food on earth. I
question the patriotism of each and every one of these people (including the
lovely lady to whom I’m married).
Additionally, there
are many infants and elderly citizens who cannot eat hot dogs. So, it’s up to
the rest of us to do our patriotic duty and make sure America reaches that 7
billion figure. Doing some quick calculations in my head (always a questionable
move), I figure each of us needs to wolf down close to 50 doggies during these
summer months. Well, as Patrick Henry said, “Give me wieners, or give me
death!”
And speaking of
death, there is someone besides my lovely bride who thinks I should cut hot
dogs completely out of my diet. That’s right, it’s none other than my primary
care physician, Dr. Phineas T. Killjoy. The situation is so depressing, I was
forced to write new lyrics to a blues song. Although when I was finished, it
turns out the lyrics go to the tune “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” not exactly a
standard in most Chicago blues clubs.
(With apologies
to Judy Garland)
Somewhere on a
new gas grille
Sizz-ling hot
There’s a dog
that I dreamed of
Mustard and
‘kraut on top
Somewhere near
that new gas grille
I am blue
And the dreams
of my stomach
No longer will
come true
The doctor
said, “You’re gonna die
Your eating
habits make me cry
Can’t you see?
“Those hot dogs
are made out of junk
Your arteries
are full of gunk
They are not
health-y”
Somewhere by a
new gas grille
People smile
They are eating
some weinies
Why then, oh
why, can’t I?
If other people
do not die
While eating
hot dogs
Why, oh why,
can’t I?
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