The other day, as I was narrating my Vancouver hot dog stories, my friend remarks that I am so well traveled this summer. Of course, the semi-sarcastic tone of voice was not lost on me, but I hope I haven't come off like I'm better than you because I've been to a lot of places around Canada/America in the last two months.
(I'm better than you because I'm aawesome with two a's, and you can't tell me nothin'!)
In actual fact, I am not very well traveled. The places I have had the honor to visit these last two months, for the vast majority, are places I have already been before. So, to be more accurate, I'm very well re-traveled. Or just plain redundant. It's like going to see a movie in theaters, then two years later, buying that movie on DVD, not because you liked it so much, but because you forgot everything about the movie, including whether or not you liked it.
Nevertheless, I went, I saw, and I conquered. Twice. Because I like to be extra-sure.
Can we please get back to Vancouver hot dog stories? That sounded much more interesting than anything you've written since. Why do you do that? Put in so much filler that is? Are you intentionally trying to be a bad writer?
I'd tell the story right now, but you'd be a fool to stick around long after that. So I'm going to bumble (bee) through a few stories leading up to the hot dog story. I personally believe context is extremely important, and for you to properly understand the meaning of the hot dog story, you have to come with me on this journey. Or not. You could just skip down to paragraph 16. It's teh internets, what am I going to do?
This, is Vancouver. (Such a compelling introduction! Seriously, paragraph 16. Hot dog. Story. Why are you still here?)
And if you don't believe me, as with most pictures I tend to put up here, you can click to see full size, not that the full sized picture would make you believe me more. Now, to get a picture like this, you probably have to have some amount of google skills be elevated above sea level.
Allow me to introduce you to Grouse Mountain. Grouse Mountain, these are my readers. I'm just going to get the hors d'oeuvres por vous, so mingle a bit, get to know each other, and I'll be right back!
*awkward silence ensues, eased only slightly by that Scarlett Johansson album (to be reviewed here on Seriously Stupefying Stupidity another day, stay tuned! And yup, I'm probably the only person you know that will promote later posts and later parts of posts all at the same time) playing in the background*
Hey! Did you know that Grouse Mountain offers a free climb, not to its peak, but somewhere really far up? Yeah, it's true! They call it they Grouse Grind, and according to the most absolutely accurate encyclopedia to date, Wikipedia, the Grouse Grind takes you up 2,800 ft! You want me to put it in terms that'll make it a bit clearer?
It's about 2,800 consecutive foot-long hot dogs if you place them end to end.
Of course, being that I am human and cannot fly (yet), I had to climb the hypotenuse of the mountain. I included that Wikipedia reference just in case you're not as well-schooled as me. Because you're definitely not as well re-traveled as me. I'm not even bothering to connect my thoughts anymore, let's move on.
The actual climb, or the distance I traveled on the Grouse Grind, was 2.9km. It took me almost 2 hours (apparently the average time it takes is an hour and 30 minutes, I'm lame-sauce). And that's right, that's pretty much 9,500 foot-long hot dogs strung together. If there actually were 9,500 hot dogs strung together, I probably would've ran up that mountain a lot quicker. Like, literally, going for my dreams. Or going with. I'm not sure which one at this point.
Actually, being the trigger happy camera person I was, it probably would've taken me twice the amount of time to get up the mountain because I would've stopped to take a picture of every segment of hot dogs. Then, I would've excitedly come home and stitched them all together for one crazy final product.
Welcome to the Vancouver hot dog story of the post. To summarize (or inform those that skipped down here), I had climbed the trail of a tall mountain. Slower than the average folk. I had never felt so out of shape my whole life. But I also felt suspiciously victorious. Like I was on top of the world or somethin'. And there is no better way to celebrate a "fantastic" showing of physical endurance by making up for the weight lost during the exertion.
Cue, the hot dogs.
But not any old hot dogs. These exotic dogs, fell under the Japadog kingdom (biologically speaking). From there, there were three subdivisions, or, biologically speaking, domains.
The Terimayo, the Oroshi, and the Miso Mayo. All priced about double what you would expect for an average hot dog. All tasting about four times what you would expect from an average hot dog. The people behind the stand were all shipped straight from Japan and sent to work, to keep up with the authenticity of the dog shop, and the overall tourist aspect of the stand. And it did. The borderline amateurishness of their English made me giggle. Then I realized I was asked for money, so I anted up.
And it's Ice Cube endorsed. ICE. CUBE. This was a guy was so scary back in the day, you'd fly yourself halfway around the world just to get away from him. If you went to school with him, and he took your lunch money, you'd say, "Thank you Mr. Cube, I have more coming for you tomorrow!" He's so gangster, he could probably get over by police and give them the speeding tickets, and they'd say, "Sorry for troubling you sir, have a good night sir. Keep on rapping those derogatory police songs Mr. Ice Cube sir." And now he's endorsing hot dogs. And shooting, not guns, but family friendly films.
As you try to digest all this information, allow me to digress.
My last day in Vancouver was spent on a rental bike. According to Google Maps, the route we took was approximately 81, 038 foot-long hot dogs in length. You can do the conversion yourself, but I don't see why you'd have to. I'm making serious improvements to the metric system. I think it's an under appreciated and understaffed field. Plus, who wants to talk in ambiguous "kilometers"? I say, "hot dog" and you instantly know exactly what I'm talking about, and probably can put your two hands in front of you spaced exactly the size of a hot dog. You probably just tried it right now! See what I'm talkin' about? Cutting edge, the things I do.
Dr.McOysty, 81,038 is too big of a number for me to imagine. Could you simplify even further? You know, common factor some stuff up a bit?
I appreciate the fact that you acknowledge my PHD in alternative mathematics, so I will try, for your sake. Let's say you're in a hot dog eating contest, and you have 81,000 hot dogs in front of you. Now, being the champion you are, you manage to eat 3 at a time. That leads to 9,000 eating events over the course of that contest. Now, let's also point out that you can fit in about 10 eating events a minute. So now we're at 900 minutes. 900 minutes, is the equivalent of watching 30 half-hour episodes of How I Met Your Mother. Which naturally happens because once you start watching, it's impossible to pry yourself away from the television. 30 half-hour episodes of that great show is just a little over 1 and 2/3 seasons of that show.
So, in conclusion, the 81,038 hot dogs is roughly 1 and 2/3 seasons of How I Met Your Mother. You're welcome.
Anyways.
You know, I really didn't know how to end this post. I hope it's not too obvious.
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Summary only...
Sitting in the back row of the room are three guys. The guy to the left is named Tony. The guy to the right is named Tiger (Woods! not). The guy in the middle's nameplate now reads "the". 
