This offers no fresh philosophical issues to explore. Its principal offense is aesthetic. And offend it does. Oh, lord, how it offends.
The legs and sneakers offend. There’s something about this everyman detail that makes for an uncomfortable linkage: Hotdog Man is me.
The intense concentration as ketchup is applied to the crown of his wiener offends. He is so particular about this detail, as though he’s role-playing as a 13-year-old preparing for her first boy-girl party.
And, yes, we cannot avoid it any longer: The hideous, distended bulk of his meat offends, the way it brushes the pavement like a sick and colossal phallus. Priapus come to life in all his engorged menace.
The enormous, bloated hotdog comes with a silver lining: It just might be the most effective stop-eating-meat message ever devised. Can even the most avid dead animal consumer see this horrible thing and think, “A hotdog would really hit the spot right about now”?
Surely, Hotdog Man turns people off everywhere he goes.
(Thanks to Dr. Patrick for the referral.)