After experimenting with many different Hot Dog brands, I've finally settled on Ball Park Franks (made with Beef, Pork, Turkey, and other things that I don't like to think about). My brand in New Jersey was Weaver, but I can't find them in Kentucky and I'm pretty sure that my taste buds are now completely partial to Ball Park.
Five minutes ago, I was going to write a Hot Dog cook book. The name of the book was going to be Hot Dog Surprise. Hot Dog Surprise is a concoction that I've perfected throughout the years. It consists of an unspecified number of Hot Dogs, chili beans, cheddar or mozzarella cheese, and a secret ingredient (rice, that's the big fucking surprise). My second recipe for the book was called Hot Dog Egg-stravaganza. Consisting of an unspecified amount of Hot dogs, scrambled eggs and rice. My wife found this particular recipe to be utterly disgusting, but she likes Hot Dog Surprise. Both recipes have a jingle that I sing while I'm cooking either of them.
Some rules that I live by as far as Hot Dogs are concerned:
1. I do not eat beef franks unless It is a chili cheese dog, and outside of my home.
2. Hot dog buns never cross the threshold of my home, unless I'm hosting a barbecue.
3. I prefer my Hot Dogs to be either boiled or nuked.
4. I make an exception to rules number 1 and 3 when I'm camping.
5. I only buy Ball Park franks.
At this point you're probably wondering why I never wrote my book about hot dogs. Unfortunately, I could only come up with 3 recipes and two jingles for my book. My third recipe with Hot Dogs is an unnamed concoction that consists of an unspecified amount of hot dogs, spaghetti and ketchup. I also discovered that a hot dog cook book had already been written by some other freak, but it's okay. I've moved on with my life. Really.
Two other book projects that I've also had to scrap: Turning everyday household items into spittoons and Pot, an Empty cigarette pack, a roll of scotch tape and you.