Saturday, March 19, 2016

Hick Might Just Need an Intervention

It was 7:45 by the time Val and The Pony arrived home from conferences Tuesday night. Dark outside, even after Daylight Savings Time. And here’s a funny thing. (Not funny, ha-ha. Funny peculiar. Peculiar as in Hick.) The homestead was almost as dark inside as it was outside!

I smelled it before both feet crossed the threshold. A charred odor. Like somebody had used that oven-cleaning setting and burned oven droppings to charcoal. A haze hung near the ceiling. Not so much near the ceiling, as halfway down to the carpet. I imagined that Hick had burned the pizza. The Walmart pizza that I had bought for him Sunday, a thin crust meat trio, just what he likes.

I told him I would be gone three evenings during the week. And he agreed that such a pizza would be easy for him to make. Turn on the oven to the temperature on the box. Take off the plastic, slide it on a pan, and put it in the oven. Let it stay there for 10-12 minutes. Even a child could do it. Even a Genius could do it, although he would let it sit out 24 hours on the stove top and then eat it.

“What’s that SMELL?”

“What smell?”

“The stench of charred food!”

“I don’t smell anything.”

“Dad. It stinks in here. Like something burned.”

“What’s going on?”

“I’m just eating my supper, Val.”

“The pizza? Did you burn the pizza?”

“Nooo. I didn’t burn anything.”

“Hoo hoo…that’s a good one. My eyes are watering from the smoke. You’ve got to be kidding me. What are you eating?”

“My hot dogs.”

“You made hot dogs? I bought you pizza!”

“We can have it another night. I wanted hot dogs.”

“What did you do, forget about them in the oven?”

“No, Val. I cooked them. In a skillet?”

“Then where’s the skillet?”

“I washed it, Val.”

“Uh huh. So I wouldn’t find out. I notice that you only washed your secret skillet—

“And my knife and fork, Val.”

“-- not the additional silverware and that one bowl on the counter by the sink.”


“Oh, and while you’re sitting there feasting on your charred hot dogs, your field is on fire. We saw it on the way home. I thought that was the smoke inside the house at first.”

“I’ll go check on it when I finish my hot dogs.”

Hick lets nothing come between himself and his hot dogs. Not even a raging forest fire.

Sing along, if you dare...

The Smell of Hot Dogs

Hello hot dogs my old friend
I’ve come to sup on you again
In the kitchen without Val here
I open Frig II’s door to peer
And the vision I behold before me glows
Saliva flows, anticipating hot dogs.

All by myself I feast alone
On tasty hot dogs without bones
In my La-Z-Boy I recline
On my hot dogs I begin to dine
And my gut is stabbed by the char of a burnt tube steak
Bad food I make
When I prepare my hot dogs

And in the living room I saw
Val had returned and sensed my flaw
Val was choking and not breathing
Val was questioning my cooking
‘Cause her eyes were singed by the smoke hanging in the air
How she did glare!
Because I fried my hot dogs

“Fools,” I said, “You do not know.
Charred hot dogs through your bowels flow.
Hear my words that I might teach you
Cure constipation now for you
But my words like silent mustard fell
Extolling the benefits of hot dogs.

Later I bowed and prayed
To the porcelain god I betrayed
And then Val cried out her warning
As I left for work this morning
“The words of the wise aren’t found in a toilet clog, but in Val’s blog.”
Advising you: Lay off the hot dogs.


  1. Paul Simon?

    Aw, say it ain't so.

  2. By the way, you should check out the group Disturbed's version of this song--the original one, not the hot dog version.

    1. I checked it out and found it disturbing. I live in the past. If it's newer than the 70s, I can't relate. Unless it's country, and then I might make it to the 80s.

  3. Simon and Garfunkle would be proud!

    1. I'm sure! And not at all disturbed...

  4. I've got to thank Sioux for tipping me to Disturbed. That's one powerful performance. Probably even greater than Hick's.

    1. Now she can be known as the Big Tipper.

      It doesn't take much to perform greater than Hick.

  5. A dangling conversation from Val. I'm so impressed with the lyrics. They sound familiar. Maybe I just saw them on a subway wall. No, wait. There are no subways in my little town. My head's full of hazy shades of winter, but April, come she will. Excuse me I've got to go over the fifty-ninth street bridge to visit Cecilia and Mrs.Robinson. Slip-slidin' away. .....

    1. I count 6 references...very good all though there must be at least 50 ways.

    2. Eileen--Your comment is so American--like an American tune. Some might consider it silly, but just like one man's trash is another man's treasure--one man's ceiling is another man's floor. I was speaking to Julio the other day (down by the school yard) and he begged, "Take me to the Mardi Gras." Since I have no more Kodachrome film--and I for sure would like to capture all of his and Duncan's shenanigans, I said no.

      Now I'm headed to Graceland...

  6. Yes, best to stay off those hot dogs. Do you guys have fire insurance?

    1. As a matter of fact, we have to pay for a rural fire tag, to the tune of $75, for each of our two separate properties. It used to be 3x, but Hick argued that since the newest 10 acres we bought was adjacent to the original 10 acres we bought, it should all count as one piece.

      If you don't pay the fire tag, and the fire department has to respond...they bill you for the actual cost of fighting your fire. That's why, when the neighbor's daughter set our land on fire burning trash, he was out with the garden hose, and digging a trench, begging us not to call the fire department.

      TMI, perhaps, for a rhetorical question.

  7. I'm glad I didn't have to hear the (later) sounds of those hot dogs!1

    1. Nor did you have to hear the whining the next morning, when Hick declared that he felt sick to his stomach for some unknown reason, and thought he might have to miss work.

  8. Val--It looks like you've lost control of your blog. Perhaps you need to include Joeh and Eileen B in your postings, and the three of you can take turns...

    After all, writing for ONE blog and posting every day is difficult. I don't know how you do it!

    1. I know, right? It’s enough to make want to step outside and smoke myself a J late in the evening. No wonder I’m so crazy after all these years. I’m tempted to hire the boxer to make them cry out, “I am leaving, I am leaving!” Then they’ll be gone at last. Across the bridge over troubled waters. No more calling me “Al.”

      I am blogrolific (prolific at writing blog posts) because I am a time-waster. It's easier than housework. It is symbolic of my misspent old age.

    2. Good move. Now I won't have to step on you with diamonds on the soles of my shoes.

    3. The girl does what she wants to do,
      She knows what she wants to do.

  9. Sounds of hot should copyright it. LOl

    1. What are you trying to do, get me charged, subpoenaed, put on trial, and convicted by a jury of Siouxs?

  10. I laughed, I choked and coughed and laughed some more and wet my pants at the bathroom door ..... I have you to thank!

  11. You're quite welcome! Looks like a made a poet out of you, too!