It does produce a nice segue to Andy Rooney. I can hear him now:
“I don’t like touch-down hot-dogs, never have. In my day food was too precious to be bandied about in a celebratory manner at a sporting match. If someone tried to hand me a weenie because a numbered hooligan in a padded get-up crossed a goal-line, I’d remind him that during the depression, if he was lucky enough to have an extra frankfurter, he’d bury it under a sour-apple tree until winter.
I don’t like touch-downs period; utter nonsense if you ask me. When I played we couldn’t afford pads, pig-skins, or end-zones. We played the game as it was meant to be played. Two teams would line up across from one another and bash each other about the head and neck until one team was dead. Scoring is something for this younger generation, with their pocket-calculators, rock-candy, and i-pods.
I like the way the Red Dye #5 leaches from my Fairbury Frank and turns the bun into a doughy goop. I’m not sure why. Maybe it's easier to eat.
“Get it done” indeed, Mr. Lawrence Radio or whatever your name is. Like Charlie Chaplin told me during an interview aboard the U.S.S. Missouri, comedy is a fickle business. The wiener you might want to hang on to, might just be your own...no wait how did that go? A weenie in the hand is worth two...(Inaudible muttering)."
Wow, what is it with older people and unnecessary hyphens?
