And the rest, 2017 edition

From my last two posts whooping and hollering about the amazingness of some different lands that we visited, you might get the impression that I don’t appreciate the USA. That would be wrong. I love a place that has this merry-go-round sign for a Chinese restaurant

and this giant polar bear casino

and this crazy pastime

and this sign

and this fish ladder

and so much more that there’s no way I can include even just the best stuff from a four-state road trip in one post. I love you, USA. This isn’t a popularity contest. Chill out.

Kyle Basa

Back in high school, I collected Garbage Pail Kids cards. GPK cards had gross pictures of not-cute monstrous Cabbage Patch-style kids with rhyming or alliterative or corny joke names. A kid eating his own mucous was Snotty Scotty. A head being preserved in a jar was Formalde Heidi. Most of the kids also had a twin, which was a card with the same image but a different name. Formalde Heidi’s twin was Decapitated Hedy.

Anyway, most of these names made sense in their own way, and I enjoyed most of them, but there was one I could not abide, and that was Hot Doug’s twin Fran Furter. FRAN Furter? How could you think of Fran Furter and not go to Frank Furter? Who was responsible for this?

Then I went back and checked out GPK Series 1 and 2 cards and found Furry Fran, Schizo Fran and… Fran Fran. I guess there was a GPK artist with a thing for the name Fran.

This story doesn’t really have a resolution, but that makes it perfect for today’s cartoon, which also doesn’t really have a resolution. It features hot dogs, at least for a while.

 

Bumptious

Happy America Day, everyone.

supermanchrisware

Published in: on July 4, 2014 at 7:31 am  Leave a Comment  
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So on and so fourth

Benny and I are going to celebrate Independence Day tomorrow in the traditional way, barbecuing with friends and watching fireworks. Because we are celebrating in the traditional way, I think I am also going to start a new tradition of ignoring Facebook on this and all holidays.

Lately, holidays on Facebook seem to be filled with hyperbolic status updates like “My mother farts flowers and she is my bestest friend” or “If you’re walking around in your white shoes stuffing your face with hot dogs instead of meditating deeply about the war dead all day, I am going to punch you in the nards” or “STOP TRIVIALIZING FLAG DAY.” Okay, actually Flag Day was pretty tolerable this year. But the others are so full of … I don’t know what. Post an anecdote of patriotic loved ones, tell your mom you love her, great; but don’t make this into a competition and don’t tell me what to do. Tomorrow I’m going to eat a goddamn hot dog, watch some fireworks, and not feel guilty about it. It’s Independence Day.

But what kind of goddamn hot dog? That’s a very good question. I have my trusty Better Homes & Gardens Barbecues and Picnics book right here, and wouldn’t you know it? There is a chapter devoted to “fancy franks and burgers.” Let’s see here; Nutty Pups?

Nutty Pups

A new favorite for all ages –

Broil franks to suit yourself. Serve in hot toasted buns spread with chunk-style peanut butter. Great when made with Frank Wrap-ups. Pass pickle relish.

I don’t believe I will. Let’s try again.

Circle Pups

1 1-pound can (2 cups) sauerkraut1 tablespoon flour
1 teaspoon sage
1 pound (8 to 10) frankfurters*
8 to 10 slices rye bread, buttered
Prepared mustard

Drain kraut, reserving 1/2 cup juice. Mix flour, sage, and reserved juice; stir into the drained kraut. Heat and stir till mixture thickens. At 1/2-inch intervals, cut slits across franks, going almost but not quite through. Broil franks over hot coals until hot through – they’ll curl as they cook. Place franks on bread; fill center with hot kraut; top with mustard.

I think this is the winner. Here is a picture of the Circle Pups:

circlepups3
And there you have it. Oh wait – I forgot the asterisked note about the frankfurters. That’s the best part.

*If using the chubby dinner-size franks, count on 2 to make each circle. Curve on bread making ends touch.

I love living in a free country.

Oswald the regular rabbit

I’ve been reading a little about Oswald the Lucky Rabbit lately, and I keep coming across these vague references that Oswald never caught on because of his Nazi connotations. I cannot find anything more concrete about these “Nazi connotations,” however, other than the fact that he shares a first name with British fascist crap-can Oswald Mosley, and Walt Disney was a Nazi sympathizer. Or something.

I think this is a pretty weak link, myself. In fact, I think Oswald’s inter-species relationship with Sadie the cat would be frowned upon by blood purity zealots. If I were a conspiracy theorist, I would say that Oswald’s blatant promotion of the eating of fiber in the first scene here (obviously inspiring the famous Kellogg’s All-Bran commercial) is a much clearer tie to the eugenics movement.  Also, Oswald’s hot dog is obeying his orders in this 1928 cartoon, as opposed to the disobedient hot dogs in an earlier Oswald cartoon. He’s obviously relishing his newfound sense of power and is planning to take over all luncheon meat next. See? See?! WAKE UP SHEEPLE – OSWALD = FASCIST PROPAGANDA.

Or, probably not.

’round the corner, fudge is made

One thing I find a little troublesome about Manhattan is that because there are so many trained artists around, there is precious little storefront art. It’s hard to get your cousin to paint a crude picture of a diaper box on the side of your market when there are ten MFAs willing to do a version in the style of your choice in exchange for a couple of Lotto tickets.

I did, however, meet some really nice folks in Coney Island. There was the dapper Mr. Shrimp:

He had quite a sense of humor, that Mr. Shrimp. I’m still wondering about that lemonade he gave me.

Then there was Chiefito and his sister Chiefita:

So sweet. So fluffy. And of course I’ll never forget the nice folks at the clam bar:

Was that a clam-flavored ice cream cone? They weren’t much for talking, so I never found out. There were these other guys at the next table, though, who offered me a really big hot dog.

I think they were in some sort of big-hat/double-entendre gang with Mr. Shrimp. Ha ha, big-hat guys. Anyway, nice to meet you all. I hope we can get together again soon.

Hot diggity

My mother gave me Amy Sedaris’ craft book Simple Times for Christmas, and while I’m still working my way through the easier projects like the Wizard Duck Costume and The Ole Granddad, I see she has included a couple of recipes in here that I might want to take a crack at. I was a little put off by the failure of Colbert’s Shrimp Paste recipe from her previous book, but I’m going to have to try this hot dog on a rake scheme as soon as I wash my rake:

Published in: on January 17, 2011 at 11:45 am  Leave a Comment  
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Stuff it in my hamper

Wow. I was going through my drafts folder trying to clean up abandoned posts, and came across something really important I somehow forgot about. Something about pork. Something you can watch and listen to all day because it loops. I can’t keep all this pork to myself.  Here; have some. You’re welcome.

Anybody know where I can get a hot dog telephone like that?

Published in: on November 19, 2009 at 1:52 pm  Comments (1)  
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Walking after Midnight

Lord knows I love a good pet costume. In my book, there’s nothing wrong with dressing up your pet in a hilarious outfit from time to time if the pet seems to enjoy it. Even if the pet doesn’t seem to enjoy it, if he or she tolerates dress-up time, and you save dress-up time for special occasions, there’s nothing wrong with dolling your guinea pig up as Chuck Mangione*.

But you should know when to say when. And I have a feeling that Midnight’s owners just didn’t know when to say when with this little white t-shirt. And one day she just couldn’t take it any more.

midnight

The look in her eyes seems to say that her owners also dressed her in onesies from time to time.

*Yes, I know Chuck Mangione actually plays a fluegelhorn, not a french horn.

Dogme31

Twitter version:

Full length is here and here.

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