RIP Spike (Died on ketchup hill)

[tragabigzanda]

Gone but not forgotten

[dad]

Heinzsight is 20/20.

[96583UP]

been a while gimme a ring let’s catsup some time

[bodysnatcher]

[spike]

I don’t get this thread at all. I totally won.

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[Ello Sailor]

I don’t get this thread at all. I totally won.

Dreadfully sorry, but Bart's Bourdain wannabe call was the clincher. Then you tried to have a go at Jorge about Sriracha and got exposed.

I'm not saying you're down for the count, but that was no victory.

[Jorge]

Gloating is unsportsmanlike so I'll just give a friendly nod in the direction of this thread

[96583UP]

someone should hump him while he’s down!

[dad]

someone should hump him while he’s down!

who among will take up the task?

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[spike]

I don’t get this thread at all. I totally won.

Dreadfully sorry, but Bart's Bourdain wannabe call was the clincher. Then you tried to have a go at Jorge about Sriracha and got exposed.

I'm not saying you're down for the count, but that was no victory.

Burt’s take does not apply. I moved to Chicago well before that.

And though I enjoy Sriracha, I am no stan. Sick burn achieved.

Always enjoy an isolated Kiwi’s cultural takes though.

[Ello Sailor]

So defensive. That's how we know you're knackered.

[Jorge]

When it first came up I really didn't know the virulent anti ketchup sentiment was a general Chicago thing

https://www.mashed.com/184844/the-real- ... -hot-dogs/

[spike]

So defensive. That's how we know you're knackered.

Merely clarifying a few things, gaslighter.

[Ello Sailor]

Take your L you big baby.

[spike]

You’re in over your head here, islander.

[Ello Sailor]

Dang, when the playful ribbing takes a sadcringe nosedive we should probably pump the brakes. Maybe next time spike will show more resilience.

[Ello Sailor]

When it first came up I really didn't know the virulent anti ketchup sentiment was a general Chicago thing

https://www.mashed.com/184844/the-real- ... -hot-dogs/

This seems... overly militant and downright strange. God damn.

[96583UP]

i wonder if i can buy some of that curry ketchup in the states