“I heard you went wild today, Wolf, and ate 2 hot dogs.”

“Shut up, Minnie.  I couldn’t help it.  The devil made me do it.”

“You know, once you go off your diet and load up on the carbs and whatever the hell else is in a hot dog, you are doomed.”

“It was this way:  I was walking around the office and my pants started to fall off.  I had to make a choice:  Either eat 2 dogs or let my pants fall down.”

“Oh for crazy.”

“Look, Minnie.  I was busy, working, when that awful Pat said, ‘Hey, Wolf, I am going out at noon, and stopping by Yocco’s for dogs. Interested?”

“Yeah.  So?”

“Well,  at first, my brain kicked in and said, ‘Don’t do it, Wolf.’  And then my pants slipped down to my knees.  I hitched them up, as I checked my pocket book.  Yes!  $5.00!  And I know the devil put that 5 bucks in my purse.  Hell, I had spent all my money last night, on medication:  Screw drivers. Vitamin C.  Very healthy.  I was so healthy, in fact, that I was damn near perfect.  You know, no one likes to see perfection, especially in an aging bar fly.  I had to do it, Minnie.  My tarnished reputation was at stake.”

“Hot dog addiction is a serious abnormality, Wolf.  You have a wiener fetish.”

“After 4 days of eating that damn lettuce, oatmeal and peanut butter with celery, I couldn’t wait for awful Pat to get the hell out at lunch time and return with those weenies.”

“You just wait.  You blew it.  Tomorrow, you will most likely hear Candis say she is going to Taco Bell. And your brain will say, ‘No’, but you will ignore it, order a half dozen tacos, and blame the devil.”

“Hold on.  Let me check my pocket book.  Wow!  10 bucks.  How much are tacos at Taco Bell, Minnie?”

Wolf

 

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