Artsy Fartsy Time

[RW]

It's off hiding with Joe.



He says he draws because he's a lying troll :)

[RW]

Hot Dog Hell and Back Again



I used to love hotdogs.  They were everything that was right in the world.  They were a blast back to childhood fun and merriment, memories of times when life was simple and carefree.  Even after discovering they were made from all the parts of animals normal life had no use for all tucked neatly in a sheep's intestine, I ate them anyway.  When you love something, you accept it for what it is and don't let a few unpleasant details get in the way of enjoying it.



When I started high school at the tender age of thirteen, I was introduced to the wickedness of food.  I'm not just talking about the fat or calorie content of such tasty things.  Everyone wishes they could eat chips, cookies, candy bars and bacon and not have it attach to their hips like a pair of fifteen pound screaming babies.  I'm talking about the prime evil side of food.  For me, the food I loved became the weapon of choice in the hands of teenage cruelty.  Yes, an innocent hot dog – the hero of the backyard barbeque, the hit of the childhood birthday party, the home run delight of the ball park – became the bane of my existence.  You see, I was pegged as the girl who had sex with a wiener.



All it took to gain that label was a falling out with the wrong girl over something as simple as a smile from the wrong boy and next thing I knew, I was a pubescent pariah.  Whispers and giggles exploded down the school hallways, coupons were taped to my locker and wieners thrown at my head while walking between classes.  Even sporting a six inch long red mark on my bruised pride, I managed to break a slight smile knowing they likely paid full price for that package of franks as their discount was sitting in my locker under my anatomy textbook.



I had always wanted to be popular, I just had no idea I could be propelled to notoriety through food.  No matter where I went the hotdog would follow me.  Bathroom walls were scrawled with versions of my supposed story.  Tales of broken wieners and visits to the doctor spread like an unattended campfire.  I was branded "Oscar" of the Mayer variety.  I even had to fight Justine McMillian in 9th grade because her friends dared to her beat up the sausage slut.  I'd meet people from two towns over and watch their eyes flash recognition upon hearing my name.  I knew right away how they'd heard of me.  Some would be so bold as to say, "Hey!  You're the girl that..."  They'd trail off as I quickly offered an acknowledgement and a correction in the same breath.  Not a day would go by where I didn't hear about a hotdog.



Sure, we all don't like certain foods like brussel sprouts or liver, but I HATED hotdogs.  The mere smell of them would make my stomach turn and my face redden in embarrassment.  They were like a bad boyfriend with a sordid past that I didn't know anything about until it was too late.  I was trapped in their evil clutches and there was no way they were letting go even though I had clearly fallen out of love.



I weathered my high school years as best I could in the face of food fame.  My friends wrapped themselves around me like a warm bun and deflected a lot of the names with their special brand of Dijon wit.  Each one abandoned their love of foot-longs and smokies because of the pain those bite sized bolognas had caused me.  They'd seek out other meaty martyrs for me to talk to, other "Frank Skanks" who were branded with the hot grill marks of rancid rumor.  There were Sandys and Sarahs, Lizas and Delilahs, Cathys and Karens.  All of us victims of Mr. Tube Steak.  All of us with friends who had become closer in our doggy deflection.



Once high school was over and I was away from the bustle of the proverbial hotdog cart, perspective finally peeked over the horizon.  I looked back on my hike through hotdog hell and found strength, endurance in the amazing people who would forgo any links to lessen my load.  For the first time in almost a decade, I found hotdogs brought me closer to my friends and that old affection boiled up inside of me.  Those tasty tubes of torture were a test of my friendships and my own fortitude.   I had climbed hotdog hill and lived to tell about it.



To celebrate my freedom from the Frankenfurter, I went to the ball park and ordered myself a red hot.  I sat alone in the bleachers just staring at the hotdog in my hand.   It looked like the same hotdog that greeted the special occasions of my youth.  It was no longer roasted by the fires of hell's inferno.  For the first time in my life, I enjoyed a hotdog with relish.

[Renee]

http://assets.sbnation.com/assets/1202150/picard-wtf-meme-generator-what-the-fuck-is-this-shit-2a74ca.jpg?_ga=1.155425979.1299486856.1456535537">

[RW]

It's called writing.

[Bricktop]

In English.

[Renee]

It's called writing.

I know that.....But is this a real story or is it creative writing?

[Bricktop]

So, real stories cannot be creatively written?

[Renee]

Creative writing as in a work of fiction.

[Renee]

So, real stories cannot be creatively written?

As for you......



https://media.giphy.com/media/CxLgv2dVK91lK/giphy.gif">

[Bricktop]

http://media0.giphy.com/media/3sV541jQpgz6M/giphy.gif">

[RW]

It's called writing.

I know that.....But is this a real story or is it creative writing?

It's fiction with a few references to real life events (not that happened to me).

[Twenty Dollars]

I'm still OK with em. I use a tortilla instead of a bun.

[Renee]

It's called writing.

I know that.....But is this a real story or is it creative writing?

It's fiction with a few references to real life events (not that happened to me).

That's a relief. I thought you might have come unglued and decided to over-share.



Because if it was a real adolescent memory, I was going to ask you if you were going to enjoy being called "the hotdog ho" by all the trolls? ac_biggrin



As for the story it's well written, it evokes all the feelings of adolescent pain many of us have and have worked hard to forget. On the other hand the situation is rather cliché and a little stale.



Just my take on it.

[RW]

The point of it was that like every school has a girl who was rumoured to have fucked a hot dog so it's a food item that everyone knows.

[Anonymous]

I am white trash and I love tube steaks.