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People Who Should Be Beaten #45
Non-profit advocacy group The Cancer Project, who has sponsored a billboard outside of Busch Stadium in St. Louis asking for “dietary disaster” warning labels to be placed on all hot dogs sold at major league baseball games.
Warning labels! They already have all the caution signs you need, like the fact they’ve been under a heat lamp for like God knows how many hours, and the guy who’s serving them to you probably hasn’t bathed in a week.
Warning: May Cause Leprosy
Now, this is the point where there’s usually a joke about wieners and gay men’s rectums, but you know I’m above that sort of thing… 
Has the Nanny State really progressed that far that we can’t go to a freakin’ ball game without being worried about the horrible dangers that surround us? My father has a saying: Eating all the healthy food in the world won’t make you live forever, but it’ll Goddamn feel like it.
People like this are trying to create a society that is the equivalent of one of those inflatable jumping cages where you can fall down anywhere and not get hurt, because God forbid we actually feel a little pain and maybe learn something.
The pursuit is noble, but the execution is just Goddamn irritating. Shut up! I get it! If I eat a bunch of hot dogs, a crap-load of bad things could happen. I’ll get fat. My cholesterol will go through the roof. Another pig will die to process the next hot dog.
I might have a heart attack and die at thirty-five. My kid’s will grow up without a father. My wife will go off and marry some European proctologist and leave my kids to fend for themselves. My son, having no father figure, will go on to have a career in the Ice Capades. My daughter will date some Goth rocker named Sven and get pregnant at seventeen.
Matthew McConaughey will make another shitty movie. Civilization will collapse, the Polar Ice Cap will melt, and the Sun will find some way to rebut all science and go supernova.
All because I was hungry. How selfish of me.
Just go away! We don’t need to be warned about everything that has a point-one percent chance of happening. I would rather not walk around this world wondering if my next breath is going to cause me to die in horrible agony.
Your concern is noted – and ignored!
OmegaSquad
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