South of the Pumphouse by Les Claypool

Earl?”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œWe used to grab a pack or two of those Big Mouths, couple them Fosters, and hang out late night in Berkeley,” Donny recalled fondly.
    â€œYou used to hang out in Berkeley?” Ed blurted.
    â€œHell yeah! Me and Earl, when we worked at the Shell station Friday or Saturday nights, would get us some beers just before closin’, do the cash out or tally or whatever the fuck we used to call it, then head on out to Berkeley for some Top Dogs.” He looked toward Earl and added, “You remember that Top Dog place, don’t ya, Earl?”
    A smile stretched across Earl’s face. “Louisiana hot links.”
    With a hoot of laughter, Donny exclaimed, “Yeah! Louisiana hot links! Shit, I forgot all about them damn things.” He leaned toward Ed and said in a low voice, “I always ate the bockwurst. They were those big, pale, greasy-lookin’ ones.” He then turned back toward Earl before continuing, “Remember the time we took ol’ Brian out there and he ate four of them hot fuckers?”
    â€œNaw, I don’t remember that.”
    â€œSure you do!” insisted Donny.
    Earl looked perplexed.
    â€œYou remember ol’ Brian, right?”
    Earl didn’t respond.
    â€œOur boss?” said Donny impatiently.
    â€œHell, I know who Brian is. I just don’t remember ever partying with him at Top Dog,” insisted Earl.
    Donny looked out the back of the boat. “Well, shit. Maybe you weren’t there? Anyways, me and Bri and whoever it was … Maybe it was Tony?” Donny pondered for a moment and then exclaimed triumphantly, “I know. It was that dipshit Bob!”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œYou know, that redheaded fucker? His breath always smelled like he chewed his socks.”
    They both laughed. “Oh yeah,” Earl finally acknowledged.
    â€œAnyways, we headed on out there to Berkeley with some beers, and of course neither one of those guys had seen a place with such a wide selection of dogs.” He paused, then asked Ed, “You ever been to that Top Dog place, Pee Wee?”
    Ed took a moment to respond. He hadn’t been paying much attention to the conversation. “Yeah, it’s been awhile, though.”
    â€œBest fuckin’ hot dogs, eh?”
    â€œI don’t know,” said Ed.
    â€œWhat do you mean, you don’t know?” said Donny, slightly irritated.
    Ed, not really caring, shot back, “I don’t know!”
    Donny, intent on drawing a definitive answer, asked, “Where have you had a better dog?!”
    â€œI don’t eat meat.”
    â€œWell, what the fuck were you doin’ at Top Dog, then?!”
    â€œI used to eat meat.”
    â€œWell, was it the best damn dog you ever had, or what?!”
    â€œYeah, sure. I suppose.”
    â€œJesus Christ, Pee Wee!” barked Donny. “It’s like pullin’ fuckin’ teeth.” He shook his head. “Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, so ol’ Bri doesn’t know whether to get this or that, bratwurst or fatwurst, eye-tallion, or polish whatever the fuck. Finally he decides on the Louisiana hot links. Four of them fuckers!” He chirped with laughter. “I can’t believe it. I tell him about the time I ate two and it gave me the ring of fire.” He leaned in toward the other two and then said under his breath, “Know what I mean?
    â€œAnyways, he called me a pus,” Donny continued. “So I says, ‘Fine, fuck you. Do whatcha want.’ So he wolfs them bastards down with a couple a Mickey’s. The next day he comes into work cool as can be, happier than hell. We’re all sittin’ around the station bullshittin’ between cars, and that fucker leans back and raises his leg like he’s gonna blow this big-ass fart. AND HE SHITS HIMSELF! RIGHT THERE IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE CREW!! THE BOSS SHITS HIMSELF! It was nasty as hell! But we laughed. We