It’s Friday. For most of you, your Friday falls on Friday. Mine? Mine typically starts on Wednesday, Thursday at the latest. So, that being said, I’m heading for the SeaDoos and the murky, nasty, oddly green lake water that is Grand Lake St. Mary. In my absence, I give the keys to the castle to our favorite little shit and resident dick joke teller, Timmy.
Hey there, grown-up type peeps. Timmy here. Last week, my Uncle Rex took me to that way cool basebrawl at the Dayton Dragons game. While we were there, he made me use my allowance to buy him all kinds of overpriced junk. Something about his assets being seized by the IRS, whoever they are. I just think it’s my former Aunt’s initials or something. Let’s see, I 
bought him a hat, a mini-bat, a Willy Mo Pena bobblehead from the discount bin, and enough food to make 10 kids sick. I did have enough to buy myself one hot dog. One very, very shitty hot dog.
What happened to ballpark dogs? Back when I was a little kid (I’m 8 now.), I remember the dogs at baseball games being the second best things to be had. The firstest best? Easy. Suicide Slurpees. Only problem is they hurt my head when my Uncle Rex told me to chug them so that girls would think I was gross and run away, but all I did was roll around on the ground until the stadium medical staff helped me. I fell for that one until I turned 7. I hate Rex sometimes, but on the cool side, he always brings a new Aunt for me to meet. He has lots of them. My friends think that’s funny, but my older brother says it’s cause he’s fraid of something called committalment. Either way, they dress like sluts, so someday I’m told I’ll like it.
Where, oh where have the good wieners gone?
So I really miss a good wiener (ha! how funny is that word?). My favoritist stadium to get a wiener (I totally said it again) is Cleveland because I go there lots. The mustard? Ohhhh, the mustard. It’s not even yellow! It’s brown, heavenly goo that makes people lick the wiener wrapper clean (sometimes I hear big people say “that’s what she said!” after something like that). Now that my favorite Cleveland Indian, CC Sabathia, is gone I kinda like the Milwaukee Brewers more. I saw a funny picture where Prince Fielder pretended that CC was a big hot dog and wanted to eat him or something.
Not to be outdone, and prolly much better, but don’t tell my Cleveland family or Uncle Spencer, is the Chicago Dog. Where do I start? All beef wiener, a really cool bun, and something they call “dragging it through the garden”. Drag it through the garden? Fuck, yeah. Sign me up. Onions, relish, a dill pickle spear, little spicy peppers, mustard, tomatoes, and that great secret gredient called celery salt. I love the celery salt. Now get this, cause I don’t understand adults lots of times. I want a picture of a “chicago hot dog”, or so says my Yahoo image search phrase. Guess what? I can’t get one because it warns me and says that the results will likely contain adult sexy time images. What. the. fuck. old. people? Anyways, I clicked “gimme the good stuff”, but it was just pictures of hot dogs like this one:
And back to my new fav team, the Brewers, they sell really good hot dogs that I don’t think are really hot dogs. They’re sausages called Brats. It’s funny cause my brother always says that I shouldn’t eat something named after me. He says I’m cannibalistic. I think he’s stupid because everyone I know calls them “broughts”, not “brats”.
Almost my favorite also cause I eat them all the time, away from the stadiums, is Cincinnati’s Skyline Chili. A little dog, with a soft bun, some thin, tangy chili dumped on it and then? Then the cheese. Oh man… the cheese. Lemme tell you about the cheese. A mountain of it. Sometimes my Uncle says he won’t be able to poop very easy (actually, I heard him say to my new Aunt, “She ain’t gonna shit right for a month.”, which is bad I think.).
Well, I’d write about more than those, but those are the ones I’ve eaten the most. I had a Dodger Dog once, but I didn’t see what all the fuss was about. It was pretty normal. Hot dog + mustard + relish + bun = whoopty-fuckin-doo.
Whose hungry now?
Timmy, out.
The fuck is a Timmy?
He’s like Muriel, only way coolerest.
I am on a diet Timmy…Thanks for nothing
That was harder to read than the latest government contract e-mail I got this morning.
they have Kosher Dogs in Milwaukee for people like Hef, Timmy. But normal people go for the regular dogs or the “broughts” or the Italian Sawseej.
really stigs? broughts?
stadium mustard pwns all…be it on a hot dog, brat, sausage, etc…well, i guess there isn’t an etc, but seriously, stadium mustard rocks and YA’LL DON’T HAVE IT (then again, ya’ll don’t have a flameable river either).
end of story.
Chorizo is better than all that bland shit. Better shits, too.
yes fetch, he’s a child and sometimes you need to sound things out for him.
spencer, we’ve got a “Secret Stadium Saunce” that is awesome. it’s a mixture of BBQ sauce and ketchup. i’ve heard the stadium mustard is great, but i haven’t had the pleasure of trying it yet.
stigs…it’s a mustard unparalleled by any mustard in history. it will truly rock thy world.
and doesn’t bbq sauce have ketchup in it already? so it’s essentially a flaovored ketchup? intereresting…i bet CC and Prince eat it by the gallon.
i don’t really know what goes into BBQ sauce. but the Secret Stadium Sauce is really good. i wouldn’t be suprised if Prince was to throw it on his veggie burgers and all the other veggie junk he eats.
i bet prince fielder has the worst gas in human history. meat products will make you rip some foul ones, but a diet full of veggies will fill the room with a potent aroma that stings the nostrils and has incredible staying power.
he could probably put Greg Maddux to shame.
[ghay]
spence, being the foodie that you are, make a mustard vinegrette salad dressing with the stadium mustard. nothing better. i marinate chicken in the same dressing. damn tasty.
[/ghay]
and yeah, that post was nothing but a reason to put up a Bad Santa quote/pic and a shot of Warren.
really? stadium mustard as a base for a vinegrette? that sounds fantastic.
i had this salad the other night with brie, granny smith apples, unsweetened walnuts and a whole-grain mustard vinegrette and coarse ground black pepper that was fuckin’ awesome.
oh yea…
/ghey
-420 Jewstars for disrepecting the Dodger Dog. I once made a Dodger Dog into a pipe during one desperate Sunday afternoon.
Vin Scully, Dodger Dog, Country, Jenna Haze. In that order. If you’re wondering why I left out God, it’s a brain tease. Vin is God.
i can’t believe it took you sooo long to respond. it’s almost like timmy through that line in there as a throw-away shot at you.
thenug…please explain how you made a dodger dog into a pipe. id be interested in trying that out when my self-imposed weed exile is over.
Spence,
It involved a corkscrew. It was a day I am ashamed of and choose to forget. A man holding a phallic symbol to his lips and puckering is not a man.
Come to think of it baseball is gay. I’m giving it up. Proof?
-There is a lot of ball griping
-It’s played in a park (Super Ghey)
-Everyone’s always impressed with the amount of wood a given batter got on the ball.
-When you hit a homer, you drop your wood and it goes limp.
-Players wear gloves to protect them from errant balls. Not wearing one will get you no love.
-The whole goal is to get out of the box.
-There’s a great deal of fascination with stats and keeping things tidy.
-There is a seventh inning stretch and everyone sings.
-I don’t even want to know what chin music is.