Ralph’s Hotdog

Ralph’s hotdog was a less-hotdog-than-normal hotdog.

It was thin, light grey in colour, and smelled like something between black pepper and goose feces. Why it was so, Ralph didn’t know; the arena vendor he bought it from looked too busy to answer his question, despite asking three times. The vendor just continued plopping thin grey tubes of what Ralph dubiously thought of as meat into buns and handing them over for twelve dollars each.

Ralph took his dog to the condiment stand and slathered it in ketchup and mustard. He added relish as well, even though he didn’t like relish, just to try to add some more taste. On his way back to his seat, Ralph passed a nacho stand and, when the vendor wasn’t looking, squirted some cheese-like goo onto his meal as well. The taste of plastic, he thought, was better than the taste of goose poop.

Sitting back in his seat, Ralph looked at his family, who appeared disgusted with his food choice. He shrugged and bit into the hotdog, savouring the condiment-flavoured sawdust. He chewed and chewed until it was swallowable, then took another bite.


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