Choose your own adventure in...

You see before you an intimidating metal building. Except for the glaring neon signs that read �Weiner Joint,� �Open,� and �Budweiser,� it has the look of something entirely utilitarian yet unkempt and bears resemblance to just about any bad guy headquarters from just about any bad cartoon from about fifteen years ago. You pull open both the dirty double doors at the same time and notice a small gumball machine filled with some nameless candy. A bell tinkles, telling any employees, customers, or crime lords on the premises that something has entered the building.

As you sit near the counter on a stool with a synthetic leather cushion, you smell smoke and see that some of it is coming from the cigarettes of a flock of old men and some of it from the cigarette of a tall, dark, enigmatic presence in the corner. The smell adds to the atmosphere of the place and seems to go very well with the tacky pictures used in such restaurants to make them appear classy. In between the pictures, nailed to the peeling wallpaper, are samplers of poetry. Looking past the counter at a menu that consists mainly of weiners, wieners, hot dogs, and frankfurters, you see a board that says "Quotes" at the top and has a variety of non-inspirational quotes underneath. On the counter next to you is a pile of pamphlets full of various writings, some of which may be meant to brainwash helpless weiner-eaters. If you strain your ears you can barely hear the deep voice of a radio talk show host reading off a Top 26 list and chuckling stupidly.