Hot Dog Rights
Yesterday my psychiatrist told me that dressing uncooked hot dogs up in little outfits with little hats is not a “healthy” or “normal” use of hot dogs.
I told him that was only his opinion, and at least it’s more humane than cooking the poor hot dogs to death.
He tried to convince me that hot dogs are not alive, and can’t feel pain. That they really don’t mind being burned in the flames of hell (hell in this case being someone’s grill at a cookout. To a hot dog, that’s pretty much a perfect definition of hell.)
I then tried to convince him that he was a Nazi hot dog torturer (I ignored his cries of “Godwinned!”) but eventually gave up. So I just turned him into a package of hot dogs and left him (in hot dog form) on his couch.
Let’s see how he deals with it. If irony wins, someone will find him and cook him to death. I’ll plead innocence. How was I to know that would happen? When I left his office he was still a package of hot dogs in perfect health, albeit naked.
He brought it on himself.