Hot Dogs

This world has made me feel kinda like a hot dog. It stays in that package with his hot dog buddies. It never complains about it cramped quarters or that other hot dogs may be made from better parts. That hot dog knows he can be eaten right out of the pack, nuked in the microwave, boiled or barbequed but he never wavers. He Just keeps his place in line and waits, knowing he could be smothered in chili, onions, cheese, and knowing he’ll eventually be ingested and end up going to pot with the rest of the turds. He may even be chopped up and scrambled in eggs , put on top of a pizza, or thrown in with those pesky elbow macaroni noodles. He never complains; Not even when he’s put on the grill beside all beef, chicken, or pork dogs. Now that’s tolerance. Maybe that’s why so many kids wish they could be an Oscar Meyer Hot Dog. Kids are just more tolerant than adults. We could all learn from a hot dog. Ingratiate the hot dog. I know I’m going to relish the hot dog.