Incidentally, one more note on the Rocket - in the steroid era, when something happens that nobody has ever seen before, it's impossible to believe it. We may never know what substances Clemens was taking (there's no test for human growth hormone), but it's awfully coincidental that a 45 year old can go out and throw 95 miles per hour - something completely unheard of before he did it. And if someone ever documents his cheating? I'll have just as much vitriol for Clemens as I do Bonds.
While I know Mr. Schneider will just accuse me of being corrupt, the evidence supporting my position is, frankly (guffaw), overwhelming. In fact, I was willing to go face to face with Big Weiner - and who has the guts to do that?
The bun is the comparatively tasteless delivery vehicle that transports its more flavorful passenger to one's mouth without getting one's hands full of mustard and ketchup. (The "meat between bread" food delivery method was of course invented by John Montagu, 4th Earl of Sandwich. Coincidentally, one of John Montagu's contemporaries, Albert Autumnbottom, 3rd Earl of Doritos, brought us the nacho cheese-flavored snack that so perfectly accompanies a sandwich.)
In a pinch, any old folded piece of bread can substitute for a bun. When eating a hot dog, can you tell the difference between a Brownberry hot dog bun and a Gardners hot dog bun? Me neither. However, suggesting that there is no difference between a Usinger's, a Klement's or and Oscar Mayer dog is liable to incite a fistfight in some parts of the state.
Finally, when legendary competitive eater Takeru Kobayashi squared off against the bear in the ultimate contest between man and beast, buns were not even on the table.
UPDATE: As a counter-rebuttal, Dr. Shuffhausen pointed out today that I am "firmly wedged inbetween the grasp of big buns."
Also, my wife and I went to a movie last night to celebrate her birthday. As we walked into Hilldale Mall, I was explaining to her my hot dog theory (she firmly sides with Shuffhausen). We passed a woman walking with her kids who obviously overheard my explanation. As we got about 30 feet away, the woman turned and yelled "HE'S RIGHT - IT'S ALL ABOUT THE BUN!" I immediately declared victory and took a lap around University Bookstore, high-fiving the employees.
A note to that wonderful woman - Dr. Shuffhausen has vowed to track you down at your home to provide a personal rebuttal.
Notice these Mensa candidates have managed to completely confuse my spam filter by substituting a "!" for the "i" in "penis." There's an 80% chance my spam program was written by U.S. border security.
Obviously, someone must reply to these e-mails. Otherwise, why would anyone take the time to send them out to everyone in the world? Again, I hope everyone gets them - otherwise, I'm part of a select "penis database" kept in the basement of the Trilateral Commission, or they're being sent to me by someone from my health club.
Either way, these e-mails defy any standard of logic. First of all, as I've pointed out repeatedly, 98% of the hard work is finding someone who will actually want to be in the same room as your exposed weiner. Once you've convinced a woman that you're not storing anthrax in your penis, it's pretty much gravy from there on out. Its "tale of the tape" is pretty much a side issue.
That being said, how many guys are like "oh, man, the reason I can't meet girls is because my crank is too small?" It's actually more likely because they're still wearing a digital watch.
Furthermore, who are these hypothetical women that notice your penis size even before you meet? Put it this way - if the first thing a woman sees of yours is your love muscle, you better damn well have your credit card ready.
I'd just love to be there when a guy asks a girl out for the first time, and she says, "You know, Chris, I think you're a great guy and you're really smart and funny and everything, but... and I hate to say it... but your one-eyed python just isn't massive enough for me. In fact, I know this great website..."
On top of that, who are the remaining people in the world that think their "size" can be enhanced by some magic pills purchased on the internet? That's just crazy. Everyone knows that the only realistic way to "enhance" your manhood is to make all of the furniture in your apartment 20% smaller. Expensive, but effective.
Finally, how is it that with all the people working on worthwhile causes, the only junk e-mails I get are from scam artists? How come I never get spam from the "Save Darfur" people? Yet some guy in his basement working for the penis black market was able to track me down. How is it that the penis pill people have gotten their hands on the most powerful spamming program known to man - shouldn't this concern us a little bit? This is like Iran having nukes. Is INTERPOL too busy tracking down people copying DVDs in their basements?
Whenever they catch the bastards in charge of flooding my e-mail box with this junk, they better get the stiffest penalties possible.
(Too easy, I know... I could go on all day...)
UPDATE: Honest to God, as I was writing this post, I got the following e-mail:
"If your warrior of love is too small, you may lose this war"