Today is National Mustard Day and everyone knows how I feel about the yellow condiment when it comes to a hotdog.
You’ll never see me with a hotdog heading towards my mouth with ketchup on the bun. I’ve gotten to the point where it isn’t even on my cheeseburger. Ketchup has a proper place on my french fries only.
I’ve gotten to an age where I give two shits over what you put on your hotdog.
I’m a mustard guy.
I won’t stop you if you want to put ketchup on a hotdog. It’s kind of like a guy who walks into a restaurant and sits down at the table with a baseball cap. The hat should be off your head before the waiter hands you a menu. Hell, it should have been off when you walked in the door.
Just like the clown wearing a hat at the dinner table, the guy with the hotdog with ketchup hasn’t been taught proper etiquette.
It’s not my job to police someone who goes against the rules. I didn’t make these rules, I just follow them.
When a guest walked onto the trading floor with his hat on… a chorus of “please remove your hat sir” would bellow from the pit.
It was never the farmer with a five hundred dollar cowboy hat. They would be holding their hats in their hands. It was always some punk with a hitch in his step and a Mizzou or Huskers hat on his head.
I went from mustard on hotdogs to gentlemen removing their hats indoors. I’ve completely lost track of today’s Morning Chalkboard.
It’s to late to start a new subject for today.
Pray for Mongo, follow the Tattoo Runner, hold the door open for someone, buy someone a coffee cake and take a moment to breathe.
Put some pork on the grill and some love between the sheets!
…And who cares what kind of love.
...boy and girl love, girl and boy love, boy and boy love, girl and girl love…. Just make sure it’s love, because love is good!
Hate is like ketchup on a Chicago Dog…… Yuckie.
