What Is A Hotdog?

We all know what a Hotdog is, right? It’s a sausage in a bun. But after that, it gets rather complicated.

Is the sausage the dog in the hotdog? If so, why are they called hotdog sausages?

Shouldn’t they just be called Dogs? And then, when heated, they become hot Dogs, right? So, doesn’t that make the sausage the Hot part? Because if you served them cold, it wouldn’t be a Hotdog …

The theory goes that Hotdogs got their name because they used to be rumoured to be made from dog meat, thus suggesting that the sausage is indeed the dog part of the dish. Don’t we all agree though, that if you put a British sausage like this …

… in a bun, it becomes a Hotdog? But those sausages aren’t called Hotdog Sausages like the ones above. They’re called sausages. So do you need to put a hotdog sausage in a bun to make a Hotdog?

No, we already decided we don’t.

But then, look again at that jar in the picture above, it doesn’t actually say Hotdog sausages, it just says Hotdogs. And we all know that a sausage on its own can’t be a Hotdog. A sausage on its own is called a sausage.

So, if a hotdog sausage isn’t the same as a sausage, and hotdog sausages are sold as hotdogs, and a sausage on its own isn’t a Hotdog, and any old sausage in a bun is a Hotdog, and a bun on its own isn’t a Hotdog, what part of the Hotdog is the dog, and what part of the Hotdog is a hot?

And what if you put a bun in a sausage?

 

 

Why Don’t They Collect Letters When They Deliver Letters?

Every day, someone comes to your door and slips all sorts of things through your letter box, or stuffs all sorts of things into your mailbox. And every day, that same person walks away empty handed.

And sometimes, you have something inside the house that you need to carry to a box in the street, where you just put in it and leave it, expecting someone dressed like the person that comes to your door every day, to come and pick it up out of the box.

I can’t be the only person that thinks this is inefficient.

Why doesn’t the person who comes to your house every day just pick up the thing you need to mail, and take it back with them?

It just needs a lockable box by the door, with a little flag that you stick in the air to let them know it’s got a letter inside.

What am I missing? Why don’t they do this?

Anyway, here’s a sketch I once wrote about the mail.

(That’s not the title I gave the sketch, that’s just what some bootlegger on YouTube called it.

Also, the best joke in this, isn’t something I wrote. “I don’t speak lexical” is a great line, and I wish I knew who came up with it.)

Monopoly Ruined The World

If you know me, or follow this blog, you know I have a deep love of board games. And you probably know that I dislike Monopoly, even when it’s played properly. That shouldn’t taint the following assertion though, because it’s truer that a true thing strapped to a polygraph.

Monopoly ruined the world.

The generation that grew up playing Monopoly seems to have taken the game deep into its heart. Witness.

  • They bought up all the property.
  • They bought up all the public works.
  • They bought up all the trains.
  • They bought up all the electric companies.
  • They emptied the community chest.

They played a game designed to warn against the dangers of putting all the wealth in the hands of a few people, and they learned the exact opposite lesson.

Wedded Twits

We were playing a board game last week called Reminiscing. From the box it looked like one of those crappy games you might reluctantly play at Christmas, but it turned out to be a lot of fun, and encouraged plenty of story telling and well, reminiscing.

One of the dozens of childhood memories it threw up was about a time we went on a school trip to Tintern Abbey (it may not have actually been there), some time towards the end of primary school. On the coach journey down, a few of the kids got all excited about an idea they had.

Six of them, three couples (like 9 year olds have a concept of this), decided that they were going to get married.

Hmm.

I made that noise in my head, even back then. It was so stupid.

But, come lunchtime, when we were all let loose to play on the grounds, we all seemed to be dragged down to a giant oak tree, to bear witness to this pathetic charade.

Someone pretended to be the priest (this was a Catholic school), and the three couples all got hitched, and I seethed at having my play time stolen by idiots.

Following day at lunchtime, we were in school, and our whole year was summoned into the main hall, where an angry Headmistress began to deliver a pious lecture about how a few bad apples can spoil the barrel. She said we all knew what she was talking about, and that what happened the day before was a disgraceful sin that we should all be ashamed of.

And I was deprived of a second play time.

I wouldn’t have minded so much, but the next day, all three couples got divorced.

Stupid Sign

I saw this sign.

It bothers me.

How exactly are they going to enforce this? What if someone in a pub down the road orders a pint of beer? Will someone from the staff have to go outside the premises and snatch the beer from that person’s hand?

Idiots.