Why do hotdogs come in packages of ten, while hotdog buns come in packages of eight?

This question comes to mind when it comes to today/tonight.

Today, I had my birthday bonfire and I started the day off by waking up at 7:35 in the morning, getting ready.  I woke up, took a shower and when I started packing up stuff in the truck, I slipped in fell in the nasty gunk that was on the stairs from the day before.  My ass hurt, put the first stuff in the truck, and punched my bag in pure frustration.  I solved my problem by getting the gate remote off my mom's car and that solved the problem.

After packing up, my cousin/brother and I went to Carls Jr.  Shades of Youth and Government trips are here when I'd go  to Carl's Jr. and get my usual: Chicken Sandwich, Curly Fries and Onion rings, plus a breakfast sandwich for him.  We stuffed ourselves and on the way to Dockweiler, I had no umbrella.  But when we got there, a guy was selling umbrellas and I gladly took one despite it's flimsiness during the windy period for a least three hours where I had to barricade it with firewood, cooler and a 24-case of water.

For at least six hours, I managed to finish Kitchen Confidential (a book I'm reading for English class for "Pleasure reading" - as my professor says) and get food in return for a few packets of salt.  I guess that a few acts of kindness goes a long way, and it's one of the many reasons why I want to be in the industry, but then that's another blog and another different story.

Some people then came, we talked, had a great time, and another party of too many to count came over, whose father asked if I could share a pit with them in return for firewood (which I needed, because I was foolish enough to think that I would last the whole night with only three bags of wood).  I accepted, and once again I got something back for this random act of kindness:  My successor (D-Man Jr., as I now call him) finally experienced the thrill of setting marshmallows for the first time over an open flame, and to see his culinary boner form was just a sight to behold (Again, no homo.).  Another reward I, or we got for this was dinner theatre:  a seemingly schizophrenic chick who refuses to drink water because she claims that her mother will pick her up and she'll find out that this schizo chick is drunk and that she'll never get to college.  Also in this dinner theatre was another drunk chick who you would say to "You should have seen yourself last night" for plopping on the floor after a simple nudge, and hanging on to people by hugging them so that she wouldn't fall in the sand repeatedly.  As for the final piece of this theatre, there was this one girl who I don't know whether she was drunk or not, but she walked around with her bra on.  To be completely honest as a human being, I would have loved to see someone strip the bra off of her to give the dinner theatre more value than it should.  After all, getting wood wasn't good enough.  It just wasn't.

Two more people came at the near end of the night, and the hour just passed by too quickly as we swapped stories about Westchester and the trash that happened around it, and the scum that stayed there.  Needless to say, as much as I enjoyed their company, I enjoyed their gifts as well.  Though I have yet to remind myself to find about a book about aphrodisiacs.  I guess that's as close to an erotic chef's book as you can get.

The classic answer to the hotdog question above is that "No matter what happens, you always get a hotdog".  Think about it, Ladies and Gents.  I would rather much eat a hotdog rather than a hotdog bun since it is more savory, and I'll be damned if a bum ever preferred to eat a hotdog bun rather than a hotdog.  My point of this message is that I'm thankful for the people who came and made this a good, if not a great night and thatI'm fine with my friends who couldn't go because of certain reasons, which I totally understand.  I have nothing against these people, and I am assuring you, dear reader, that our friendship is still in tact and you're still on the VIP list for Eversoul one of these days. 

And just for a note about hotdogs: Always get Hebrew National.  They didn't pay me to endorse them, but I trust these Hebrew National people despite Hassan telling me to not trust the Jews, that their hotdogs are 100 percent kosher beef.  Put it in a skewer over a fire, on a bun and some good Dijon mustard (I mean, some quality brand Dijon mustard) and some relish and have a meal that should satisfy you for two, if not four hours.

To end this whole thing, note to self: Put Hotdogs on Fridge.