By special request, this one is copy and pasted from a post I made over on ETR back in April or so.
**Warning- Long, stupid story. No valuable information whatsoever is contained herein. ***
I know some people have issues with hot dogs. The "mechanically separated meat" thing gets some people. Not me. I really don't care what's in them- they taste good, they're cheap, they're quick, and they're awesome covered in chili. Plus, I've yet to get sick from eating them. Well, until recently....
The current g/f was headed to the store the other day, so I asked her to pick me up some more hot dogs. She agreed, and headed over to the local Kroger for some other TJ essentials- Fudge Rounds, cranberry juice to mix with the vodka, beef jerky, and Newcastle, among my other requests for nutritionally worthless items- as well as her girly crap that I won't come near like yogurt and tofu.
....Not to mention probably $20 worth of Cosmo-type magazines, from which I will doubtless be post-coitally quizzed (while I'm trying to go to sleep) about things like what my underwear says about my sexual personality. "You wear boxer briefs. That means you're confident, yet adventurous.... Do you think that's true? Do you think I'm adventurous? Is our sex life boring? What's wrong with me?? Why don't you love me?!?" But that's a whole other thread.
Anyway, being somewhat health-concious, and not much of a carnivore, the g/f felt, "for my benefit," the need to scrutinize the ingredients before making a decision on which hot dogs to get.
She evidently decided that 'regular' hot dogs were gross, and that no man of hers would be allowed to ingest such "scraped up from the butcher shop floor" nastiness. The Kosher dogs looked much better, in her educated opinion. She is smart, you know. That thesis on the role of women in the Iranian government has loooots to do with processed foods.
Upon her return to the house and the hungry man, I discovered these "Hebrew National" brand all-beef kosher hot dogs in the grocery bag. Needless to say, a minor skirmish erupted (BALLPARK!! OSCAR MAYER, B**CH!! DOES YOUR CELL PHONE NOT WORK IN THE STORE??), but alas, that single power that women hold over us men won out, and I decided to be civil and eat the damn dogs to please her.
I don't have anything against Jews (hi Ben), but I'm telling you- I think the word "kosher" is yiddish for "tastes like dirt." These things were beyond terrible, and it took nearly a whole can of chili to smother the grainy, rubbery taste and feel of only four of them. Hot dogs just aren't supposed to feel like this in my mouth..... For some reason, I never could get these tubes of curiously chewy cow parts to feel or taste like they had actually ever been cooked. And I recall wondering more than once why these ultra-dense wieners simply refused to retain heat like a "normal" hot dog.
After forcing down two bites of these religiously-correct enigmas, I ended up dumping them all in a popcorn bowl with the buns, aforementioned can of chili, about half a pound of shredded cheese, and a heaping helping of mustard. I microwaved it until the chili and melted cheese started exploding, before being yelled at by the g/f about making a mess. I then stirred and chopped vigorously before settling down on the couch in my drawers and eating it all like a gooey, beefy, runny salad, with a plastic fork and knife, while watching "American Idol." The only thing I could find to sufficently drown out the taste of the kosher beef and Paula Abdul's irritating ramblings was a tall glass of vodka, with a splash of cranberry juice (to give it color).
My innards were highly displeased with me for the atrocity with which I had bombarded them. I wasn't sure which end they were going to be coming out- only that it wouldn't be long. It's hard to decipher that rumble sometimes... many thoughts ran through my head- "Is my fragile caucausian digestive system so far removed from those of my non-pork eating ancestors?" "Was this all just an evil feminist trick to break down my will to resist her?" "What part of a cow is kosher, anyway?" And finally, "Damn, I drank a lot of that vodka."
Needless to say, after all of that chili, cheese, alcohol, and mystery meat, there would be no semblance of intimacy that evening, much less post-coital questioning.... At that moment, I would've been thankful for such a relatively pleasant inconvienence. First came the heartburn, which I fought tooth and nail with repeated heavy doses of the pink stuff. Then came the dry heaving.... and then..... Have you ever thrown up Pepto? In retrospect, I should've just cut to the chase and downed a bottle of castor oil. With this in mind, I decided to be wise and skip a step with the rest of the "hot dogs" and dump them directly in the toilet. Same end effect, much less drama. A little more pleasant to look at, as well.
Ironically, Hebrew National's tagline is "We answer to a higher authority." And I believe it, because I sure did for a couple of hours that night. My dog even felt sorry for me. And I know that because I tried to give him a bite, and he refused it. Wish I'd have been that smart.
After a few days of weiner-free recovery, I'm back to my old trusty Ballparks and Newcastle tonight. No surprises there. And maybe if I'm lucky, I'll even get to answer some of those questions about my choice in undergarments later.
-T
