I kept it simple today. KC and I split the Ball Park dog 2fer. No Vienna, no toppings, just K& M. I like my hotdogs like I like myboys... Pretty on the outside, all fucked up on the inside--tasty, but the aftermath of indigestion will keep you away for a year or so.
And so I give you:
We decided Jazz hands were appropriate due to all the hype and the long-ass havin line.First Bite:
Okay, bland, but delicious. If I look tired it's because my stomach was torn inside out last night by Tot Assault 08. I think Luke felt bad. Hence the crying.
How big was it you ask?
Just about "that" big.
Following dog I commenced to snake down Shannon's malt. Fantastic, although it could have used a titch more Malted.
I'm going back here. Next time i'm opting for the Secret Stadium Sauce--it can be no worse than any other "secret" sauce, can it?
4 comments:
Ha, that top picture is classic!
I just want to say that even though I don't like hot dogs, I'm really pissed that I have yet to experience a hot dog adventure. Next stop? Metrodome!!! But seriously, I'm not eating a hot dog.
Jazz Hands. Jazz Hans. I have a new name for you. You can kill me later, but you cannot go wrong with Jazz Hands. Someday I am going to call my band Ollie Stench's Jazz Hands just to confuse the straights.
Sorry there wasn't any Good News on the radio.
Yes, and when I travel alone I am "Hans Solo" Well actually, i like being Hans Solo... keeps me rounded. With Jazz hands.
Come to Harrisburg, PA and get a Spot dog at The Spot on 2nd St, downtown. Do not touch or sit on anything. Order it To Go and leave immediately. Then commence the most amazing hot dog experience ever. Really, EVERRR! And if it happens to be 2:30 am following a night of club hopping all up and down the street it's just that much better!
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