Home > Cuisine by Brian Schropp > SCHROPP INVESTIGATES: Little Weiners


By Brian Schropp

Anybody who lives near the Deep Northern Suburban area knows that ‘little weiners’ are strictly banned here. This goes back to a time well before I was born when the then Mayor choked on a little weiner at some public function and nearly died. The city council was swift to act and issued an order making them ‘illegal contraband’ in the Suburban limits. Now, all weiners, packaged or made at home to be sold, have to be measured to meet local government standards. Me, like many other liberal-minded weiner connoisseurs in the area, see this as a ridiculous outdated order. I understand that a public official almost kicked the bucket but that was a long time ago plus I heard that this particular Mayor wasn’t the brightest to begin with.

My folks for some reason put up with this ridiculousness just because it’s the law. “That’s just the way it is,” my Mom usually barks when I wave a petition in her face to sign. “You can go to other parts of Lankville if you want weiners that small.”

Which is true, it’s just such a pain in the booty to travel when I could just enjoy the little devils in the comfort of my own basement apartment. And let me just tell you, I’m a very very big fan of little weiners. Pile those diminutive delights on a paper plate or put three or four on top of a fork. It’s just plain deliciousness all round. I LOVE LITTLE WEINERS!!!

Sure, there have been trailblazers in the past few years who have tried to push this door open. Ms. Swanson for example, who at the summer bake off laced the bottom of her apple pie with those guys. The ‘LWEA’ (The Little Weiner Enforcement Agency-WHICH OUR TAXPAYER MONEY PAYS FOR) was swift and harsh, barging in and taking Ms. Swanson and her whole family away from the bake off (who knows where they are now, no one has seen them since last year). Luckily I was able to get a piece that an agent accidentally dropped in the ruckus. And let me just tell you that slice was pretty damn good. After wiping off the dirt and ants (and maybe a little blood from one of the Swanson family members), I was treated to the sweet taste of apple mixed with the squish of the little weiner in that baked crust. Such a shame-such a shame.

It was the other day when I answered the phone in my basement apartment. “Hey, are you that kid who writes for the paper? You know the really good one?”

“Uh-yes-I think.”

“Got a tip for your new article, it’s what I think you guys call a hot one.”

“Something is hot? Is it on fire?”

“No Bri, a hot tip, you guys use that lingo.”

“Do I know you? You sound familiar.”

Delicious little weiners (file photo).

“Don’t worry about that shit. Remember that jack off who owns ‘Mr. Pizza Slice’? You know the place that can’t roll out their dough worth a damn? I think they are selling little weiners on the sly. Can you believe that? Where is The LWEA when you need them?”

“Scott, is that you?”

“Hey Bri.” It was indeed my former manager and still top dog at ‘The Pizza-A-Round’, Scott Pizzaman. Not sure if he was trying to be clever using a fake voice (which sounded like a high screeching old lady) or if he was just joking around. Either way I’m just glad he stopped.

“So is true about ‘Mr. Pizza Slice’?”

“Damn straight it is. Selling little weiners left and right with no regard for the law.”

“How do you know?”

There was a slight pause where I could only hear his breathing, I thought maybe I crossed a line and he was going to explode. The Gods were kind. “I just know, it’s common knowledge all around the pizza trade. PLUS the fool has been spreading coupons on my turf. How dare someone who makes a pie so poorly try and take my business.”

I felt myself at an ethical crossroads. My gut (which was rumbling because it was time for my mid-morning snack) told me that Scott was fabricating this story just to get back at ‘Mr. Pizza Slice’. Yet that little voice in the back of my head– yes, the new investigating reporter voice, was saying if there really was some backroom weiner selling going on I could have the story of the year!!

An hour later I was in Scott’s ’87 Neptune across the street from the establishment. Scott was using oversized, almost comical in size, binoculars to stare into the place. He was also leaning halfway out of the window not giving a damn who saw him. “Don’t see anything shady going on at the moment-eh-doesn’t seem all that busy for it being lunchtime. What losers.” He fully got back into the car “Say Bri, why don’t you walk down the block then come back up the other side and go in. See if that fool in there will sell you some little weiners.” I guess my face said it all. “Come on, I’m right across the street, if anything starts going down I got your back.”

It was a real gut check moment for me (and yes, Scott was nice enough to stop and get me a couple fried fish sandwiches plus some strawberry milk for my mid- morning snack). I had to step it up now, I was a reporter for ‘The Lankville Daily News, a real investigative reporter. After a deep fish smelling belch I nodded and was ready to go.

The block was longer than I realized and I almost didn’t make it. Being hassled by the more ‘street wise’ citizens of the area, I had lost all my money, my belt and pants (luckily I had large shorts on), my sports jacket and one of my shoes. I thanked the Gods I left my camera on loan in the car with Scott. When I walked into ‘Mr. Pizza Slice’ I was a right mess physically and mentally.

Mr. Pizza Slice (photo by Scott Pizzaman).

The guy behind the counter looked me up and down quickly. “You gotta get out of here.”

I hung my head low and turned to leave. NO, I told myself, I can do this!

“Uh, can I get a free sample?”

“What are you mumbling about?”

“Your sign out front says a free sample.”

“If it gets you out of here. You wanna try a cheese or a meat bits slice?”

“Oh no my friend.” I leaned on the counter, the confidence surged in me all at once. I tipped down my ultra cool reporter glasses (which you can see in my photo at the beginning of this article) “I’m talking about the other type of ‘free sample’.” I gave him my most wicked schoolboy grin in hopes he knew what I was talking about.

The man paused for a moment and then grabbed one of the biggest pizza peels I have ever seen, wasting no time hitting me over the head with it. I stumbled out the door with the guy close behind. I would have fallen over on the gum encrusted sidewalk but I was able to balance myself on the huge pizza man statue they have out front. For some sorry reason the locals called the statue ‘Mr.Slice’.

“Don’t you ever come back here you freak, you understand?!!”

And to see if I fully understood he took one home run swing at me with the peel. With my reporter instincts back on track I was able to duck making him take off the head of ‘Mr. Slice’ instead. Then, my dear readers, it started to rain– rain little weiners!!. They were in the statue!

I turned to Scott who was already running across the street. “I think I found the–”

That was all I remembered, putting my back to the pizza peel dude he gave a good thump on my head. When I came to, ‘The LWEA’ was swarming all over the place. They were not only in ‘Mr. Pizza Slice’ but the businesses around it taking out people in cuffs. Like I said, these folks do not play around.

I was lying on the hood of Scott’s Neptune– for some reason they neglected to call any medical services. Scott was sitting next to me taking a swig from his flask and watching the chaos go on around him. He saw I was awake. “I did–I mean you did it Bri! Those goofs are going to jail for life!!” With the laugh of a madman he took a longer swig.

I closed my eyes happily, some fine investigative work done.

Editor’s Note- After a thorough investigation by the LWEA, there is no proof that ‘Mr. Pizza Slice’ was selling little weiners. We are also not sure if Brian ever completed the second part of his ‘Vegan Pizza’ article. We have left numerous office voicemails and when we called his residence someone hangs up immediately. Brian, if you are reading this please come by offices tomorrow at 2 PM for a performance discussion.

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