Your weiners look beautiful in this moonlight

Years ago, Lizzie and I were driving through Woonsocket, RI, and stumbled upon this beauty. It was late at night, and the moon was indeed shining upon the house of weiners in the most radiant way. The moonlight house of weiners never left our minds, so we decided to try to find it for lunch during our trip back home. Fun Fact: If you meet anyone from Woonsocket, RI, which is a 15 minute drive from where we grew up in Franklin, they will say this: "Yeah I'm from Woonsocket. It's a total shithole, but luckily I live in the nice part." Everyone lives in the "nice part" of Woonsocket. It's quite amazing. (And it is a total shithole. Confession: my Great Grandfather is from Woonsocket). Also, a note on pronunciation. The "woon" part of Woonsocket is pronounced "Wun". They try so hard to be pretentious, but then go and name their sports team the Woonsocket Rockets. Le sigh.

Anyway, the Moonlight House of Weiners. We found it again pretty easily, and perused the menu, deciding, obviously, on weiners. (The place smelled of them, and dozens of the questionable meaty beauties lounged on metal rollers, waiting to be scooped up and dressed by the staff, who layered the dogs up the entirety of their arm to lay on the toppings) Each weiner cost a scant $1.07, and came with mustard, onions, and a 'meat sauce'. Lizzie declined the meat sauce, but you know what they say, in for a penny, in for gaining ten pounds, and I said hell yes to the meat sauce. According to the waitress, the weiners were small (that's what she said) so we each had two, plus a small order of fries for me, and a small order of onion rings for Lizzie. We also mainlined diet coke to keep our girlish figures. Verdict: Barf. Though delightfully cheap (our bill was only $14.88), the indigestion associated with our weinervana lasted ALL DAY. We ate around 1pm, and by 9pm I was sort of maybe interested in having some crackers. As we drove from Woonsocket back to Franklin, we groaned uncomfortably and released clouds of weiner vapor in delicate little belches. Tres charmant! Alas, one cannot enter unto a house of weiners, moonlight or otherwise, and expect to escape without one form of discomfort or another.