Captain’s Log, Stardate, oh, wait. That’s Pajama Boy talk.
One thing I enjoy when I hit port is cruising the Promenade to see what’s new. Whether it’s a new line of wave making surfing torpedoes, planet busters, or something new to eat or drink. This time around I spotted a cart with a rather lonely looking fellow. The guy looked to be selling hot dogs, and although his prices looked reasonable, less than a pint at Quark’s, the vendor seemed to not be getting any business, despite it being lunch time. In fact, it looked like most of the station personnel were going out of their way to avoid being seen at the hot dog cart. Curiosity got the best of me, so I walked on up to the cart. The guy brightened up, somewhat, as he watched my approach.
“What’ll it be,” he asked.
I looked over the sign that served as his menu, settled on something that sounded up my alley. “Beer brats sound good. I’ll have a couple of those.”
“Sure thing.” He busily began getting my order together. I could see, and smell, that the brats had been simmering in a mustard and beer sauce. They looked darn good to me.
“New here?” I asked.
“Yeah, just opened last week. I had to find a new gig after I lost my last gig,” he said.
“I’m the Kahuna,” I introduced myself.
With a cocked eyebrow he responded, “So you’re the Great Kahuna. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”
“Quark’s been running his mouth again?”
“No. Flipper Kerry is a colleague, well, former collegue, of mine. Call me Tony.” He handed me the brats. “Want something to wash these down with?”
“Pint of Bitters would be nice.”
“No can do, there. I don’t have a beer license yet. Maybe next week. I can set you up with a Root Beer.”
“That’ll work,” I said.
He pulled out a bottle of Frostie. It had a smiling Santa Clause like face with a white hat on the label. Happy and cheerful, just like the Federation. It went surprising well with the beer brats. I handed Tony a couple of quatloos to cover my tab. We chatted for a few more minutes while I made short work of the first of my pair of brats. As I started to head on my way, Tony said, “Hey, let you friends and crew know about my hot dog stand. Best Wieners on DS9.”
“Sure thing, Tony.”
As I finished my lunch, I strolled into Quark’s ready for a few pints and shots. Quark spotted me stuffing the last bit of my second brat into my mouth, and he couldn’t help but comment on it.
“So, Kahuna, I see you visited the Promenade’s latest addition. What did you get?”
“Couple of beer brats.”
“That should be safe,” Quark said.
This caused me to raise an eyebrow. “Safe?” I asked.
“Yeah. You did get them at Weiner’s Wieners, right?”
“Um, yeah,” I answered.
“Whatever you do, don’t order the Congressional Wiener!” Quark said.
“Why not?”
“You don’t know who that guy is?”
“Um, no.”
“Sleeping under a rock the last few weeks? That’s Congressman Anthony Weiner. There was some big news about his sending pictures of his wiener over the Galacticnet.”
“No way.”
“Yep. Even Pelosi pushed to get him out of Congress. Unfortunately he ended up here. Selling…”
“Wieners,” I finished Quark’s statement. “The beer brats were pretty good. So, what can be wrong with the Congressional Wiener?”
Quark looked at me with all seriousness. “Think about it. Congressman Weiner. Congressional Wiener. And that BYOB after the entry for it doesn’t stand for ‘Bring your own bottle’.”
“No?”
“No. Bring your own bun!”
“Oh.” I was beginning to feel a little sick.
“Usual?”
“Um, no. Better give me a Bin Laden.”
“Two shots and a splash of water coming up.”
I think I will have to avoid that hot dog cart in the future.
Kahuna out.
