Feast with me

It’s always a melancholy time for me when the holidays end. No more Christmas to look forward to. No more gift buying. No more pretty lights. No more annual sentimental movie traditions. But worst of all, no more excuses for eating like a giant hog.

“Oink, oink…it’s the holidays. I have to eat like this,” I say over and over in November and December. “Of course my face is looking fat…I haven’t shaved in 3 hours AND it’s the holidays! What self-respecting American has only one chin anyway?”

Now it’s January and it’s time to start your workout routine. It’s time to reintroduce yourself to that personal trainer who offered you a free session back in July. It’s time to dust off those P90X DVDs you put away back when you were more active before the rain and cold sent you into a hibernation that has stretched the holes in your belt into some bizarre oblong shape. It’s time to buy the 2-year 24 Hour Fitness membership at Costco because if you make that big a financial commitment then you’ll HAVE to work out.

Well, fatty (and I’m talking to me)…I’m here to announce one more thing you have to train your body for. And this time it’s all about gluttony. What I’m about to tell you is going to make all those extra scoops of gravy and melted butter seem worth it all these weeks later.

Let me tell you a little story. I once organized a pickup baseball game for a bunch of has-been old-timers like myself. I actually did it twice, but this story is about the first time. With a great deal of help from a lot of people we were able to field two full teams of former baseball players. We went out there and pretended like we were teenagers again. It was a blast. Instead of having a 7th Inning Stretch I brought a barbeque and hot dogs. We fired it up and started cooking enough hot dogs to feed a small army. I ate one and it was fantastic. So I had another and it was pretty dang good too. Then I started thinking about having a third and this guy I had never met before came over to me and said “you’re thinking about having a third dog aren’t you?” Yes, should I? “Let me tell you something…you’re chasing that high and you can’t get it back.” Huh? “You’re chasing that high. Remember how you felt when you ate that first dog?” Yes…wonderful. “How did you feel when you ate the second?” I felt good, but not AS good as the first. “You see what I mean? You’re chasing that high. You need to stop at two because one was as good as it was gonna get. You’ve reached the point of diminishing returns and there’s no getting it back now.” Thanks weirdo.

Needless to say I ate that third dog and it made me feel pretty crappy for the last few innings. But it got me to thinking all philosophical and stuff and he really was right. Whoever that guy was he really knew what he was talking about. To this day that is the best advice I ever...I’m digressing here…the point is HOT DOGS!

Think about them for a minute. What a wonderful invention. So the meat industry finds it has all these by-products that are pretty foul and impossible to sell in their original form (think lips and a**holes here). So what do they do? They press them into the shape of a penis and tell you to slap it into a bun and then somehow convince you it’s manly to eat these things hot off the grill...and you buy it! You eat lip and butthole penises all the time because they're delicious!

I’m telling you all of this because I have an announcement to make. I haven’t yet come up with a location, date or format for it but…drumroll please… in the very near future keenkeith.blogspot.com is planning to host a hot dog eating contest paid for by revenue generated by the blog itself. All interested parties should contact me (Keith) at keithhattorijr@gmail.com so that I can get an idea of just how big an event I am planning. There are two local brewers who have agreed to make special brews dedicated to this amazing event.

My plan is to have this thing happen in early March. I’m hoping it takes on a life of its own. Because here’s the deal…I’m talking about hot dogs and beer. Please leave comments here or email and let’s go out and debauch ourselves with nitrates!

Hillbilly Hand-Fishin'

Today seems like as good a day as any to start a blog. In fact today might be the best day in my life to date to start a blog dedicated to sharing the things that happen to me from time to time.

I should begin by telling you that once every three weeks I deliver for meals on wheels. I have been doing this for 4 1/2 years now. It is sometimes rewarding and sometimes depressing, but the people I meet are appreciative and it's well worth doing. Today I delivered for the second consecutive week on account of my having played golf a couple of Mondays last month, so I was fresh in the minds of the people on the route which apparently made me more personable.

My last stop of the day is always the 6th floor of a condominium building in Portland. Instead of paying for parking I place my homemade "Meals on Wheels Delivery Driver" sign on the dashboard, park in the 15 minute only spot and head into the building. The young guy who works the front desk always buzzes me in before I get to the door and it's up the the 6th floor for me. I take a left out of the elevator and head toward the smell of cigarette smoke. You see, the gentleman I'm taking food to is a Vietnam Vet who has a rare terminal disease. He spends most of his day in either his recliner or his wheel chair and he smokes like a chimney.

I ring the doorbell and he yells "come in!" as usual but the door is locked today so I try yelling back, but he isn't wearing his hearing aid (hearing loss is part of his disease) and he has the TV blaring so I may as well be a fart in the wind. After some time (I assume he's hoisting himself into his motorized chair) he answers the door and we go into our typical sarcastic banter. This is good because last week he was pretty down about the progression of his disease and I left thinking there wasn't much time left.

We talk for a while and somehow we start talking about mundane world records and he says "have I ever told you this story before?"
Me: "How the hell should I know? What story?"
Him: "Before my brother died we went on a ferry to Alaska. I had to use the john pretty bad but when I went in there some backpacking kid was in the handicapped stall...the little bastard. I tried the other stalls but they were all filthy and I was in my chair so I waited. When the kid had finished I went into the stall and what do you think I saw?"
Me: "I don't know and I'm probably better off not guessing."
Him: "It was the longest turd I had ever seen."
Me: "..."
Him: "No, I'm telling you this was the longest turd I'd ever seen. I don't know how this kid saved up for it, but he really did something special there."
Me: "uhh"
Him: "So I had to tell my brother but I knew he wouldn't believe me so I had to take a picture of it."
Me: (blink...blink)
Him: "So I take a picture of this thing and show it to my brother and we had a helluva laugh over it. The toilets on that ferry reminded us of being on the submarines in 'Nam. It's no wonder he never wanted to crap in there."
Me: "Yeah, no wonder."
Him: "So later on when my brother was living with me (his brother lived with him for 2 years and 4 months after being given 5 days to live by his oncologist) I went into the bathroom and I really had to go. After I was done I looked down and I couldn't believe what I had created. It must have been the medication they had me on because this was more impressive than the backpacker on the ferry."
Me: "We should make you a plaque."
Him: "So I wanted to show my brother but I knew he wouldn't come in from the other room to see so I went and got my camera..."
Me: "Well of course, you gotta document something that monumental."
Him: "...and my rubber gloves. And slowly and carefully I started to pull that thing out of the toilet."
Me: (jaw dropping open)
Him: "Inch by inch I rested it up higher and higher on my arm, careful not to break it. I laid it down on the paper towels I'd put on the floor..."
Me: "Oh my God."
Him: "...and I ever so gently stretched it out next to a tape measure making sure not to touch the thousand dollar camera to it."
Me: "Oh my God."
Him: "And I'm tellin' ya this thing was 18 inches long. So I go and take the camera over to my brother to show him and he won't look. So I just hold it there and finally he gives in and looks at it and he goes from 'I'm not gonna look you sick bastard' to 'holy sh*t! how did you do that?'."
Me: "That's the strangest story I've ever heard. Once my step-brother saw not a long turd, but a thick one in a toilet at Embassy Suites and called me in to look at it. It was as big around as a big burrito (holding up my hands and makeing a circle the size of a Chipotle carnitas burrito with extra cheese)."
Him: "Oh, I hadn't told you that part. Mine was thick like that too. I have the picture over there on that camera if you don't believe me."
Me: "I believe you"
Him: "It's just over there. I oughtta show you."
Me: "That's amazing."
Him: "In fact I will show you...hold on."
So he drives his chair over to the corner desk and grabs his camera and starts skipping through pictures on it. There are 683 pictures on this camera and I'm seeing shots of his brother's wake and his brother's dead dog that also died of cancer. I'm seeing Tom, the guy who owned the bar where the wake was. There's a shot of a white Christmas. Then all of a sudden there is this thing that looks like a dark-skinned man's forearm laying there next to a tape measure. It absolutely measured 13 inches long and there's no way my hand could have come close to wrapping all the way around it.
Him: "You can see I didn't form it at all or put any two pieces back together or anything. It was just one solid turd."
Me: "Yeah, that thing is smooth and uniform. No doubt about it."
Him: "So now you know when I tell you something it's the truth and I can back it up."
Me: "So...uhh...how long does it take to push something like that out? 10 seconds or...?"
Him: "Oh hell no. 10 seconds? It took at least 3 or 4 minutes. I had to keep working to push it out of there. Most turds are self lubricating and slide out easy if you've noticed. Because of the meds, this one wasn't. You can see on the end where it tapers a bit that I just couldn't relax the muscles any more and finally had to squeeze it off."
Me: "Oh my God."

Listen...not all my writing will be about dying men talking about giant pieces of crap.

Keep it Keen,
Keith