I had multiple hot dogs
walking around, trying to find my beer. Misplaced
at some point. From room to room, even rooms in
which I could not have set it down, not having
been through them during the time between
tossing the last can and popping
the current one, I refuse
to give up the chase
in a case like this,
I put on mustard, relish,
and, pausing Oxford-comma thoughtfully,
ketchup. Even though I know ketchup
is considered disgusting
on a hot dog. According to Dirty Harry Callahan,
most things are. And I refuse to give up
that sweet, vinegary tang, just because
some superstar devil-may-charming
quasifascist cop
who doesn't even exist
(some people don't)
(most people don't)
has elected to share his bigoted views
on condiments in a major motion picture
release!
My beer
Finally.
I can sit
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