Update: Speaking of warnings and bans, guess what happens when you try to tell Turks "No fumar?"
Freudianer than you? Heck, they're more Freudian than Freud!
Nathan Brindle links to news of a group that wants -- demands! -- a cancer warning on hot dogs. Yup, weenies, favored treat of many a youngster.
I was trying to relate this to L. Neil Smith's illuminating theory that the for-you-own-good crowd is afraid of fire: smokes, nukes, guns, smokestacks, smoked meats, fossil fuels, internal and external combustion engines, etc., etc. when it occurred to me that we have not one but two groups of nappy-wetters at work and what the other group fears and loathes most is, well, anything longer than it is wide, and doubly so if it happens to be cylindrical. There's a lot of overlap with the fire-haters (cigars, firearms, smokestacks, locomotives, fast cars and so on) but on a few issues their particular imprint stands out and the humble frankfurter is one of 'em. They're terrified of the penis.
All it takes is a quick glance at the body of feminist writing (or fifteen minutes of Oprah!) to recognize the source of this but it has roots even farther back, in the Mrs.-Grundyism of the Mauve decade and long before.
Well, 'scroom. I grew up eating hot dogs and -- to the possible consternation of the weenieworriers out there -- my favorite form of 'em was sliced into discs and cooked in vegetable soup!
Holy cow. Sometimes a cigar is only a cigar, nitwits; even Rene Magritte would go that far.
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