I wrote this story in ‘Comedy Writers’ on Medium, before I was found in ‘violation’ of their covid nonsense and they suspended my account. How sad. It might be a bit crude, but it’s only about meat and veg.

What a funny place it would be if walking meat sticks and vegetables could talk…

Photo Credit: Charles Deluvio @ Unsplash

“Helen, Helen, you hot hotdog, look like you’re cookin’ in the sun? Fancy seeing you in town? Bit dodgy for you, is it not?”

“Christian cucumber? Gonna slice off a cooling sliver, and dip it on my meaty sweat. I hate walking in this sunshine. I’m such a greasy stump.”

“Your lipstick has dripped down your chin to your legs, you smell like you’re smokin’ on the Barbie”

“Get over here and cool me down. How’s the mrs, that long beautiful curvaceous green corgette? Tell me about the gherkinettes? Are they playing in the pickling pool?”

“Yeah yeah, the gherkins are great, but I’m just, I don’t know…”


“I guess so,” Christian adds, a frown wrinkling his waxy exterior.

“Cut me off a sliver, cool me down, and tell me all about it in the park”.

Hotdog Helen and Christian cucumber are the freaks on show…again, in a world of tall things, one type with hairs galore on the face, legs, back and chest, and the other type with long lustrous hair spread across its shoulders and two almost melon looking segments in the middle.

“I don’t like how these giants look at us, Chris,” Helen comments. “Anyone different be afraid of the giant with a pair of scissors in hand. Could easily chop me into bird food in seconds. Look down…keep looking down. Walking meat sticks have no say…walking meat sticks must obey, walking meat sticks must not stray, walking meat sticks must stop sweating and continue without delay. I’m a walking meat stick, with nowhere to go but in a pan of hot water, or a quick thirty second semi-explosion in the microwave. Christian, wanna swap places with me? This whole street just smells of Helen hot dog. Birds want me, bearded giants grab at me fifty five thousand times a day to stick me between a soft white roll, and that white roll is a loser. It’d be a match made in heaven if I were to fall in love with a white roll, but I’m in love with…”

“…what you blazing on about, you crazy hot dog? Me me me, that’s all you ever go on about? My juices dribbling down the street, it’s time to get microwaved, all the hairy giants want me for lunch, dinner, and tea. Christian Cucumber is no popular vegetable either.”

“No need to get rude, buddy. It sounds like somebody did not get a stroke this morning from the corgette queen?”

“Less of the smut language. That’s none of your business, Helen? Isn’t Cynthia your friend?”

“I guess so,” Helen adds. “Come on, we’re almost at the park. What’s on your mind?”

“A new family have moved into the street, Bertie and Betty Banana and their fun size narnas, Noel and Nick. I saw the narnas kicking a ball, they were really showing off their curves.”

“Not met the bananas yet, nor the narnas…but go on bud.”

“Well I was shedding a bit of the cumber flesh, ready for supper, and my young gherkinette, Giovanni, tried to join in with the narnas. They pushed him away, kicked the ball in his face, and it left him bruised and upset. He couldn’t even play in the pickling pool because the water stings his face. Poor little blighter. Reminded me of my days with the salad kids. That bastard Billy beetroot, ‘bumping’ into everyone, bruising them with red ink. That’s why I’m sad. Why can’t we just get on in this world, Helen, why is there such a divide?”

“Geez mate, I’ve never seen you this way. The beetroot is extinct, remember. Turned into beet juice for the giants that walk this earth, keeps their cheeks rosy red, and as for Giovanni. He won’t let the narnas get him down. He’s small, but he’s got a good kick curve on him.”

“George, my other gherkinette, is a bit of a loner. Likes digging around in the mud for cherry tomatoes. Says they’re the cutest veg species ever. Yeah, perfect for squishing at those nasty narnas. I’ll teach them a lesson, you watch me Helen, you hot dog.”

“Hate it when you call me a hot dog. Do I look like a dog? I mean I’m skinny and tasty, but why a hot dog?”

“You said it, H. Fifty thousand of those hairy hungry giants are grabbing for you, daily. You’re a hot dog mamma, hottie hot dog.”

“If you say so. So…I was just going to tell you who I loved…”

“…sorry Helen, gotta run and persuade George to part with his cherry tomatoes, so we can avenge those fun sized idiots across the street. You’d better run for it too, there’s a hairy giant who can smell you from up there. Quick, dart behind the bushes behind the bench, it won’t see you there. See you soon hot dog hottie. Who do you love, if you’re not in love with the soft white roll? Forgive me, Helen. Rein check. Text me a clue. Peace to you, sister.”


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *