44 Hotdogs

Ever had a snippet of something stuck in your brain that just wouldn't go away? I've had one for the past week or so.

I was standing out on the porch, minding my own business, and this idea came flying up outta nowhere and stung me in the brain like a pesky skeeter:

44 hotdogs all in a row....

44 hotdogs???? What kind of a goofball kernel of an idea is that? Where did *that* come from? I don't want to be thinking about hotdogs, I want to be pondering on black holes and red dwarfs and cosmic catastrophes and suchlike. You know, intellectual high falutin' stuff.

Nope, I got hotdogs instead.

Well, the danged ol' hotdog idea has given me an itch I just can't seem to scratch.

I worked on it a while trying to make it congeal into something, but it just wasn't happening. I've been doodling little caricatures on scraps of paper hoping it would finally bloom into fruition. Nope, still not happening.

Since I can't make it into a whole, I've got to poop out the part I've got and let it be just a part, dangit. I *hate* when that happens. But I can't seem to get rid of this critter any other way and I've got to move on.

Here's the image of my hotdog farmer wearing a straw hat (yes, that's what the fuzzy yellow thing is at the top), scratching his head in puzzlement. Imagine 44 of them all in a row doing a little bouncy, bendy hotdog dance in time to the music.


And here's the verse that's been swarming around with it. I think this should be sung to some long ago childhood nursery rhyme or the college frat beer chugging tune, or some bizarre combination of both.

Forty-four hotdogs all in a row,
Scratchin' their heads cuz nuthin would grow.
White buns toasting in the noonday sun,
Forty-four hotdogs not having fun.

Pertaters planted with the butterbeans,
Cabbage, okry and turnip greens.
They finally decided "What's the use?"
And watered their crops with hot dog juice.

And I have the overwhelming urge to end it with the frat song finale:
Sung by the whorehouse - quartet.
Have ya got a hard-on? Not yet.
Are ya gonna get one? You bet!

I must be:
a) sleep deprived;
b) huffing too much fingernail polish remover;
c) watching too many old Sesame Street cartoons; or
d) all of the above.

Brought to you by the letter "H" and the number 4.