I enjoy a life-long love affair with ketchup. True ketchup aficionados do not limit themselves to applying the condiment on burgers, fries, or otherwise bland sandwiches. The Ketchup Elite drown eggs in it. Ketchup on mashed potatoes is an under-appreciated delight.
In my callow youth, I may have carried my affection for Mr Heinz’ finest product too far. Heavy drinking sessions at the old fraternity house often resulted in “contests”. Literal pissing contests into snowbanks with extra credit for inscribing obscene phrases was a favorite. What else could one do at an all-male school?
I retired as undefeated champion in ketchup chugging. College boys get hungry after a night of imbibing. The fraternity cook wisely secured edibles under lock and key, but there were always squeeze bottles of ketchup available. Heinz chugging had a much higher degree of difficulty than Budweiser chugging and was much admired.
A recent news item brought back fond memories of those college hijinks. Elvis Francois was swept out to sea on his tiny fishing boat. He survived for twenty-four days until he was rescued subsisting only on a bottle of ketchup and some seasonings.
Elvis Francois is the coolest name ever. Reginald Dwight changed his name to Elton John. David Jones changed his to David Bowie. Those are cool names, but Elvis Francois is better.
Elvis likely would have stripped me of my ketchup chugging champion’s belt.
By Ed Dufton