There’s a man made of hotdogs living on the bottom of the ocean.

I call this man my friend.

Docked outside his door sitting in the panic room of my submarine

in case my friend baloney man attacks me.

Friendship is a two way street.

Or a one way street with two cars going in opposite directions

where one guy, your friend, waves while smiling to let you know

you are going the wrong way…asshole!

My friend hotdog man is serving me dinner now

in a ceramic serving dish is a hotdog casserole.

That’s when I realize that since I have been there

I have not seen a single member of his family.


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