An Open Letter to the Creator of The Hot Dog Legs Tumblr
Dear Asshole Creators of the Hot-Dog Legs Tumblr page,
I bet you’re feeling really smug right about now.
“Hey STAN,” one of you is probably saying to the other. “Look how many pageviews we already have!”
“Gnarly!” replies the one of you not-named-Stan, but who says Stan-like-things, such as gnarly.
You’re probably already looking for mansions on Craigslist in anticipation of all the money you’ll make off of Heinz Ketchup banner ads and wholewheat bun endorsements. And I bet you’re practicing your pick up lines for bars: “Hey girl, you know the Tumblr ‘Hot-Dog or Legs?’ Yea, I started it. But I don’t mean to brag. Wanna bone?”
But what I bet you never considered — never even gave a fleeting thought to — is that for some of us, HOT DOGS ARE OUR ACTUAL LEGS. That’s right. I have hot-dogs for legs.
TLC hasn’t done a show about it yet but there’s actually quite a lot of us. Shot right out of the womb with two mini frankfurters instead of typical baby appendages, our “legs” can grow up to as long as 12 inches, but the fun stops there.
Imagine being a toddler and trying to fend off unweaned two-year-olds who mistake your legs for bottle nipples.
Or picture yourself as a sixth grader and your best friend is the middle-school track star. All you want to do is run like the wind beside her but instead you have to worry about her disapproving Vegan mother who glares at you in between races.
High school pool parties are historically a breeding ground for self-doubt and fear (Do I shave just the bikini line or go full Brazilian? Do I look fat? Can I get pregnant if I swim near Steve?). But I ask you, cruel Tumblr-er, HAVE YOU EVER HAD TO WORRY ABOUT SOMEONE’S DAD MISTAKINGLY TRY TO BAR-B-Q YOUR LEG?
Or had a seagull eye you like a LITERAL PIECE OF MEAT?!
What about PANTS?? Yes! Pants! Do you know how hard it is to find PANTS that can fit our perfectly cylindrical, wobbly-yet-straight versions of what you so RUDELY disregard as LEGS?!?!
FORGIVE US, oh-superior-one, for needing a vacation from the torment and stresses of daily life. And FORGIVE US for wanting to share that beach or pool view from the comfort of our Instagram accounts. Those accounts are where we share our lives with fellow hot-doggers — where we commiserate, console, accept.
We’re people too you know.
So sue us for bragging about our tans in Aruba.