Lamb

I No Longer Wish I Was An Oscar Meyer Weiner



It's true.

Last Thursday, in a great flash of light, I was transformed into an Oscar Meyer Weiner.

Let me explain. For as long as I can remember I've loved hotdogs. I love everything about them: the delicious meat that's a shade of both pink and red, the contrasting mustard, the onions stinging my tongue, and the pleasant way the ketchup mixes so nicely into an orgy of flavors.

I can remember eating hotdogs at least three times a week as a child, and I cherish these memories.

But, not only that, I remember actually wanting to become the hotdog itself.

But, not any normal hotdog; I wanted to become an Oscar Meyer hotdog.

I'm not sure if it was the name, the taste, or the packaging, but I grew to be convinced that if I could choose again what I would be, I would have chosen an Oscar Meyer hotdog.

This feeling that I was "different" or "special" grew and grew until I was obsessed with the concept of becoming an Oscar Meyer Weiner.

I can remember many incidents where my secret shame broke out and nearly exposed me for the Oscar Meyer obsessed youth that I was.

Like the time my mother nearly caught me between two pillows covered in mustard and onions. Or the time my dad almost walked in and found me floating in a boiling hot bathtub as I made believe I was soon to be sold on Coney Island. And, I guess I'll never forget the shock on my girlfriend's face when I explained to her that I wanted her to dress me in sauerkraut.

The list goes on.

But, my wishing came true when I read in National Review that there were now surgeries for meat reassignment, as they called it.

You see, one Doctor Souk of Portsmouth, had found a way in which he could turn humans into the meat product of their choice.
After reading the article, I celebrated by blowing 100 dollars on Costco's 1.50 hotdog deal.

The next morning I woke up sicker than I have been since I got ringworm from Molly Ringwald. But, with the operation in mind, I quickly recovered.

Soon, I was in Portsmouth being interviewed by Dr. Souk.

He asked me a number of questions, like:

Are you crazy?

You're really going to give me 14000 dollars to become a hotdog?

Would you like me to turn any loved ones in to hotdogs?

And so on.

Finally, the big day came and I entered Dr. Souk's office prepared to become a hotdog.

I had fasted for three days and spent three days riding roller coasters and going to ball games, as instructed.

Once inside the office, Dr. Souk strapped me to a large bed and a laser was lowered over me.

The next thing I knew, I was an Oscar Meyer wiener.

And that's the last thing I knew, because you see an Oscar Meyer wiener can't see, hear, think, feel or anything. In fact, an Oscar Meyer wiener, for all intents and purposes, is a tube of dead flesh between processed flour with crushed roots and such on it.

That's it.

What did I expect?

I'm not sure. I guess I expected to have as much fun as the Oscar Meyer wiener on the commercial, not to become an abomination to God.

So, I can tell you that with great relief, Dr. Souk turned me back into my old self to make sure that that's what I really wanted.

Well, besides a large headache and an inexplicable anvil lying near my head, I was pretty sure that my present state was probably for the best.

I hope you will share this story with your children, as I want to be a model of common sense.

Thank you,

Robert Lamb