Somehow he’s escaped containment. They were supposed to throw a burlap sack over Mr. Chestnut’s head, like they do when subduing an ostrich, and take him away once he’d finished the pile of hot dogs. But now he’s loose, and he’s picked up your scent. Here is what to do…
Run in a Zig-Zag Pattern
Scientists believe that, at any given moment, Joey Chestnut’s body contains at least a +13 Number of Hot Dogs Above the Average Citizen (NHDAAC). The weight of those hot dogs, along with the weight of the water it takes to soak the buns and slide those sodium-filled weiners down a gullet, is immense. This means there is a constant sloshing going on at Mr. Chestnut’s center of gravity, which makes him far less agile than the average person. A zig-zag pattern can help create distance between yourself and Mr. Chestnut. But do not rest once you’ve created space; if Joey Chestnut has set his sights on you, he will quickly adapt. His mind is motivated by hunger. He is clever, like a velociraptor. He is also relentless, again like a velociraptor. Move with purpose.
Find the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile
Under no circumstances will Mr. Chestnut give up. One way or another, he will eat. In the past, people have tried using hundreds of Nathan’s hot dogs to build a pork barrier between themselves and Mr. Chestnut in a foolhardy attempt to fill him up (impossible) or at least slow him down (possible, but futile). Sadly, those people found out the hard way that Mr. Chestnut can consume hot dogs faster than people can lay them down. Your only hope is to get Mr. Chestnut to refocus his crosshairs on a larger, more succulent target. If you’re able to get Mr. Chestnut to lock his sights on the Weinermobile, and if that enormous, motorized meat tube can reach highway speeds before he catches it, you’ll have successfully bought yourself a few hours’ reprieve. Use this time to put as much distance as you can between yourself and Mr. Chestnut, and pray he loses your scent.
Lay Low
It worked. He’s off chasing that preservative-laden automobile. You’re free, but Mr. Chestnut is still on the loose. You need to shelter in place until he’s been apprehended. Check into the nearest hotel. Close the windows and try to—
What the Hell Was That?
Sweet shit of Christ, he’s devoured the Oscar Mayer crew and commandeered the Weinermobile. His eyes are shimmering with a mix of fury, hunger, revenge, and excess hot-dog grease / human blood / motor oil. Dammit, he just kamikaze’d the Weinermobile into the side of the hotel. The elevator no longer works, and he’s making his way up the stairs, pausing after each step to grab the previous concrete stair, tear it from its riser with a single hand, and eat the entire thing in two bites. There’s no escape. He was a hundred miles away less than twenty minutes ago. How did he find you?
Do Not Cross the Beast
In hindsight, this should’ve been step one. You never should have visited his natural hunting grounds of Coney Island. You certainly should not have seen an enormous pile of steaming hot Nathan’s hot dogs and grabbed one, thinking they were free snacks and not part of the hot dog reserve the federal government maintains to try to keep Mr. Chestnut satiated and calm.
Reflect
None of this is what you had in mind when you lied to your wife and told her you were going to a business conference in New Jersey before sneaking off to Coney Island for a day of freedom, riding laps around the Cyclone tracks and enjoying grease-squirting grilled dogs. But also, isn’t this exactly what you wanted? You were bored at home. You came here because your life had become predictable and you wanted a thrill. Now you’ve got the biggest thrill of all as you tear through the hallways of a Pennsylvania La Quinta Inn, trying to decide whether to be eaten by Mr. Chestnut or swan-dive out of the fifth-floor window.
Succumb
This is where you end. This is where we will all end one day. Everyone and everything exists only until Mr. Chestnut decides it doesn’t. There is no afterlife as long as Mr. Chestnut is present. The gravity of his constant consumption allows nothing, not even whatever soul humans may have, to escape its pull. You provide him no satisfaction. He will go on devouring, and you will merely be returned to the particles of the universe when you’re excreted into Mr. Chestnut’s toilet, which, you have to assume, is one of the absolute marvels of modern engineering and a true achievement in industrial plumbing.
