Sometimes I surprise myself with my flair for presentation.
Why, exactly, do Ballpark franks plump when you cook 'em?
In the interest of full disclosure, I drizzled this dog with French's Spicy Brown mustard. (The readership will refrain from castigating the authoress for breaking the law and not using Stadium Mustard since the authoress duly recognizes her wrongful ways--call it a form of early parole on account of good behavior.)
The Goat dressed his with (ahem) ketchup.
This lunch was simultaneously crappy and fantastic. This lunch was craptastic.
This post is done.
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