We hate Philadelphia. We’ve made no secret of that. And we think it’s hilarious that someone in Citizen’s Bank Park thought hot dogs for the Phillie Phanatic’s cannon were suspicious packages, especially considering how the Phillie Phanatic obviously doubles as Philadelphia’s bomb squad.
In fact, we wish we were there for the detonation of the hot dogs that people thought were bombs. It must have stunk of beef and nitrates, and, as baseball fans, we’re programmed to love that smell. Plus, it’s got to be the best Philadelphia has ever smelled.
But the one thing that bothers us about the whole affair is that Philadelphia has a hot-dog cannon when the Mets have only a t-shirt cannon. Sure, Girls Gone Wild has shown the lengths people will go to for free t-shirts, but have you ever seen the t-shirts Mr. Met fires into the audience? They say Pepsi Party Patrol on them, because that’s exactly the crew you want to be repping when you put your free t-shirt on and hit the streets. Plus they’re paper thin, so your nipples and (if applicable) chest hair are totally exposed. And people jockey for those t-shirts like they’re woven from gold.
With the destruction of Shea Stadium should come the dismantling of the t-shirt cannon. In its place, Mr. Met should hold the world’s greatest and most powerful hot-dog cannon. Because hot dogs, unlike crappy t-shirts, have real, tactile, wonderful value. Delicious value.
We were going to finish this post with a staggeringly genius conclusion about how hot-dog cannons somehow embody all that’s awesome about our society, but that will have to wait until after we go get a hot dog.
