Random Thoughts: A Bounty to a Hot Dog

 Feel free to plant your tongue in “cheekish” concrete, remembering this account comes straight from the lips of my Uncle Mort down in the thicket. My 99-year-old kin heard it from the general store owner who was happy to pass it along from the bread delivery man who heard it on the CB radio. (The “originator” is a man who claims his cousin, an usher at the New Orleans Superdome, got his “facts” from in-the-know football followers.)

Tears of saddened fans flow in rivulets down Bourbon Street, and there’s a general shortage of paper towels in all brands—save one. They’d sooner go through a trainload of Kleenex than dry up the tears with Bounty. In fact, there’s rumored to be bounties on the heads of folks caught using Bounty towels.

The Champion Hot Dog of the Texas Rangers

They’re sick to death of hearing “bounty.” In fact, movie goers are boycotting rentals of The Bounty Hunter, Mutiny on the Bounty and Trip to Bountiful. Fans using Bounty towels, or voicing the “B” word, risk being “pink-slimed,” feathered and ridden out of town on a rail—or perhaps a pirogue. The liquid is sloshed from a “blivet”–ten gallons of slime in a five-gallon bucket.

Some say Roger Goodell issued a heavy-handed penalty, calling him “Commissioner BAD-ell.” Randy Galloway of the Fort Worth Star-Telegram says the fans are in a “commissioner-induced coma.”

With the windup of the collegiate basketball season, tongue-wagging about teams leaving the Big 12 Conference is slowing. Still, there is strong sentiment about defection of Texas A&M University to the Southeastern Conference. Aggie former students and alumni of the University of Texas are—in many cases—crying a duet about one of the nation’s oldest football rivalries going by the boards. (Add to these many thousands the names of others who pull for neither school, but would pass up Grandma’s Thanksgiving turkey to see the game resumed.)

The Longhorn faithful yell that the Aggies are leaving the Promised Land.

Aggies respond that they’ve escaped from the land of broken promises. I dunno; I just know that a classic match-up is no more.

The boys of summer are “champing/chomping at the bit” (choose one) to usher in the 2012 major league baseball season.

At the Texas Rangers Ballpark in Arlington, fans will grit their teeth when they fork over cash for the new CHAMPION HOT DOG! It is two feet long–almost bat length. They say the sumptuous fare nestles in an exotic bun and will feed five. The tab is $26. (My late friend Hardy Reed, himself an acclaimed chef, felt that “a hot dog is barely enough reason for jaws to be moving.”)

I can envision a ‘dog being ordered from mid-row, and the vendor asking “threesomes” to pass it down. What’s next—a three-figure menu item?

During my high school years in the 1950s, I worked at one of our three local drive-in theaters and one of hundreds in Texas at the time. We charged 20 cents for a hot dog, or a nickel more if a patron wanted a big dollop of chili. Candy, popcorn and soft drinks went for a dime each, and admission varied from 50 cents per person to $2 on “carload night.” On cold winter nights, patronage was sparse, sometimes as few as 8-10 vehicles. A few times, only a couple of cars remained for the final hour of the movie, and on one occasion, there was but a lone vehicle for the last 60 minutes. When the screen blackened and exit lights came on, the vehicle remained motionless. I walked cautiously toward the car, ready to offer jumper cables or whatever was needed.

In the car were three young mothers and six pre-schoolers, all asleep. Judging from the hot dog wrappers and soft drink cups in the car, they must have gone “all out” financially, maybe spending five or six dollars. I remember this night vividly, because my pay went up by 25 cents on the same date—to $2.75 for working a double-feature, plus concession stand clean-up. Those were the days.

Final thought, courtesy of the CB messenger referenced in the first paragraph: He thinks elected officials should be limited to two terms—one in office and one in prison. He says pattern has worked well in Illinois.

Dr. Newbury is a speaker in the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex. Inquiries/comments to: 

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