Do you like Meat?

Oh Dear, this is squaring up to be quite the night… Brace yourself and put the women and children to bed.

8 Guys

A Meat Loaf

A Rope Swing

12 Bottles of Champagne

8 Big Logs



And wow, are my hands lubricated with grease and for reason’s unknown, and oddly a stench of burning flesh permeates my residence. An unseemly scene it is….

Speaking of unseemly scenes… after the preceding sentences, it only makes sense to turn our attention to hot dogs. The hot dog is a very versatile arrangement of the English vernacular. It can be applied, in its most grandiose form to an arrogant (s)run of a (b)ditch… Which immediately brings the visages of football player Terrell Owens… who often enjoys his share of hot dogs (information that NIKE would like to keep quite quiet)… But the hot dog can also refer to an instrument used in a dental practice to shape a filling, or a perversely shaped tube of Play-Doh - I recommend the Sea-Green putty for optimum texture and taste for those so inclined)- or what I consider the eighth wonder of the world… The frankfurter. And while we are fervently using the term frankfurter, all good Christian men, upon ever encountering the hallowed ‘frank-footer’ on the menu of a local establishment are obligated to purchase and enjoy said ‘frank-footer’ or be banished from masculinity and sentenced to wear pleated khaki Dockers and Bass NuBucs for eternity. Which is getting off easy if the alternative punishment is having to spend at least 4 hours at the NASCAR café. And not surprisingly…This is the very same sales pitch I threw to Samuel at the late night Myrtle Beach icon hotspot Sam’s Corner Weiners and Things, but I was promptly shown the door and found my tires slashed and a big loogie on the windshield upon my return to my V-8 drawn Mercedes auto-chariot.

But enough of this idle philosophical drivel regarding the legendary hot-dog. Let us get elbow deep in the greatest tubular arrangement of processed meat on the Grand Strand… The Costco Hot Dog. I don’t know if it is the incredible - almost theft like price - of the Costco Hot Dog and drink combo or that it is a cheaper non-stop air flight ticket to a coronary than the Wendy’s Baconator…

But at least three times a week I cannot contain my enthusiasm from putting one of these plump and juicy hot dogs in my mouth and engulfing what is one of the best kept secrets on the Grand Strand. This sits right next to such hidden gems as Grissom Parkway, Dr. Eugenia Badescu and her warbled English diatribes en route to wonderful aesthetic dentistry, 50th Ave N. Beach Access, the Myrtlewood Driving Range and the 2-for-1 deal at Club Exxtasy on the 11:00 PM siren.

So, for the mere price of $1.99, a $50.00 membership fee, a 10 gallon jug of mayonnaise, 5 lbs of Hummus, and 1500 Ibuprofen tablets, you too can have a tasty tube of processed meat. The ultimate bargian food for the struggling Coastal Carolina undergrad, or the man who wants a little bit of easily obtained and available meat at an attractive rate.

And just as an addendum… If you are one of the million degenerates who enjoy a bit of tube-meat on your lunch… whether it be with or without mustard and kraut… never, ever google ‘How Hot Dogs Are Made’. The horrification will rival both the Holocaust and Hillary Clinton’s extensive makeup regime… As it will only ruin one of life’s greatest culinary pleasures…. Kind of like Slim Jim’s. Or Britney Spears’ lump crab meat.

Speaking of grease… Hot Dogs always seem to be the slipperiest of buggers that is, until it comes to handling a bunch of slickly seasoned meat and a bunch of boy scouts. Boy am I tired. Last night I had a group of boy scout leaders over for dinner and a few drinks while constructing a new rope swing for the Boy Scout Jamboree. It got relatively chilly with the arrival of the cool gulf-stream air into the Horry County region, so I dumped 8 large maple logs into the middle of a stone ring and manufactured what was truly the greatest of all great camp-fires. It was a phenomenally joyous night and the champagne began to steam like Aunt Flo had possessed us all… perhaps a bit too much, as I stumbled over Gerry’s leg and tripped into the fire, severely burning my forearm in the flaming campfire. I had to enter the Emergency Room and wait behind four people there for these hick afflictions - A)Companionship, B)Sniffles, C)Idiotic Marriages. So, that being said, I did not get much sleep… nor did I get to clean up the greasy mess from the meatloaf. I reluctantly attended to this mess in the morning, but obviously did so haphazardly, as I have meatloaf grease all over my hands… dripping to all regions of my body.

What a great night… I am sure you did not misinterpret my original presentation of the situation… I mean, who could?
Obviously, it couldn’t be read any other way…