Guard Your Dog

One of the finer pleasures in life is picking a time to take a vacation, whether arbitrarily or acutely framed in date. Early this year, I found myself with frequent flyer miles to burn and a craving for massive seratonin release.

It should come as no surprise that a twenty-something year old male about to turn twenty-something-plus-one over the summer would book a flight surrounding his birthday; I set my sights on Las Vegas with intentions to gamble, booze, schmooze, and other unspeakables that men my age lust after. I booked the hotel, then months later took advantage of the cancellation policy in favor of cheaper lodging at one of the… less desireable hotels and casinos on the strip.

I had a ridiculous time, and not to push the cliche but the unspeakables will remain so. You are then curious, no doubt, as to why the author has chosen to write about an unknown mix of pork and beef blandly boiled in water and stuffed into a nondescript bun, further stuffed into a complementary nondescript foil sleeve.

Our hero is wrapping up his Las Vegas trip. What feels like both a year ago and yesterday, he saw ridiculously budgeted shows, gambled ridiculous amounts of money, and probably looked ridiculous to bystanders as he spit game to dames. He had great success at some (shows), moderate success at others (women), and laughable disaster at the rest (gambling). Still, he pushed onward.

After busting out of the 11:00pm hold ‘em tournament and refusing to re-buy, he resorts to his nightcap “move” — an excursion to the penny slots with a very slow trigger finger that yields a Johnny Walker for approximately 20 cents and a $1 tip.

Content to retire for the night, he heads to his room and turns on ESPN. His patriotism is rekindled and the lost wages become lost to his mind as he watches the USA Women’s Softball team absolutely crush Australia like the roo humping and subsequent roo eating goons they are. Eat it down under, bitches, he thinks.

Suddenly, a craving strikes. Dollar dogs, his mind repeats ad nauseum in the truest sense of the word. He grabs his room card, what is left of his wallet, and some sandals and marches back to the elevator. He proudly crosses the casino floor, watching the idiots that rather strangely resemble his glee and patronage a matter of days ago — what fools.

He arrives at the bar slash hot dog stand. Oh, so many dogs under a repressed heat lamp waiting for some master to come release them into the world. He proudly slaps two dollars in coins (yes, coins, ok? I was about to head home and was flat ass broke!) and awaits his mystery meats in bundles of joy. But what’s this? A geezer has cut in front of him and not only stringed together the longest order known to man (three dogs, and then two drink orders one by one! What an ass!).

Our hero patiently waits for the elderly and quite obviously senile gentleman to receive his (well, technically MINE! stolen right from under me!) dogs and drinks, and then proudly receive mine. Ah, yes, to the condiments stand — a far and sad cry from the condoms purchased earlier in the week now forgotten after, dare he say, glorious use?

Suddenly, and with great fervor, the old man is in our hero’s grill like charcoal on a summer day! With a scowl and a ridiculous mustache that puts Tom Selleck to shame, he makes a move for our hero’s dog! Fat, stubby fingers squish the delicate balance of unknown proportions of beef and pork into a flattened and quasi-expelled mess in the otherwise serene foil pouch.

He screams, “He stole my dog!”

For just once in history, the young man and old man have reversed their stereotypes. Our hero bellows, “Why that’s just rude! How could you? These are my dogs! I paid for them!”

The villainous cretin replies, “He stole them! How many did he buy? Bartender! I bought three dogs — he stole one of my dogs!”

Our hero’s jaw agape, he only could reply, “How rude! So very rude! You only had to ask, and I could have told you,” while the old man mumbled inconsistencies and little deceits. Our hero proudly walked away, much to the confusion of drunken lasses and overweight tourists far too blasted to understand the sheer gravity of the situation.

Having returned to his hotel room, he deliberately and delicately dressed his dogs with sweet relish and mustard, knowing full well he learned a valuable lesson that day. Do not covet your hot dog, but instead, guard your dog. Our country may say 9/11, never forget; our hero may say when visiting 7-11, never forget.