Washed Weekly: El Glizzadente, Ol' Jeffrey Gene, & 11 Things I Consumed

Still waiting on the return of the vortex bottle.

Feb 09, 2024

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My Coworkers Won’t Stop Photoshopping My Face Onto Hot Dogs (And I Can’t Stop Them)

Dillon Cheverere

Please know that these words come to you from a beaten down, dark, lonely, hopeless place. I typically like to use this platform to try and entertain. Today, sadly, I’m using it to broadcast my cry for help.

I enjoy hot dogs like anyone else. I eat them at cookouts, ball games, at the turn before a back nine, or poolside on the Fourth of July. Yellow mustard and sweet relish is how I like to dress mine. A jumbo dog at the ballpark that comes in a foil wrapper is probably my favorite kind. Listen, hot dogs are good. They’re good! I enjoy them. I’m not going to dispute that.

I don’t like them more than any regular meat-eating American, though. I’m not a HUGE hot dog guy. I simply enjoy them at a pretty normal clip. The way my coworkers like to portray my affinity for hot dogs, however, would make you think I obsess over them.

It’s like I’m sneaking them in between meals to get my fix in. Like instead of taking a five-minute smoke break on the patio outside our office, I tip-toe around the corner and pull mustard packets out of my pocket and down a quick dog without anyone noticing.

Like I walk back into the office and sit at my desk and get relish all over my keyboard and have yellow stains on my collar, hoping no one will notice. They’d make you think I get forklift deliveries at my home. Just pallets of dogs left at my doorstep where I have my home grill continuously burning so I can plop a couple dogs on whenever the mood strikes. Hot dogs at the ready. Hot dogs on a whim.

That’s just not how I live my life.

They do this bit where I’m running for president of the United States, but instead of a presidential candidate that looks like the natural human version of me, I’m a hot dog instead? They’ve even named him El Glizzadente? Why is it a Spanish name, you ask? YOUR GUESS IS AS GOOD AS MINE. I don’t even get the joke! And it’s certainly not funny!

Not only do I have zero aspirations of running for public office, especially at the very top of the political spectrum, as the leader of the free world, the Commander in Chief, but if I were to run, I would simply run as myself. Seems like the most logical path to winning? What I’m trying to say is I would not run as a human-hot dog hybrid.

What the f*** even is this character?

No one’s voting for a hot dog to lead their country! How would anyone take his authority seriously? How am I going to earnestly debate my opposing candidates when every rebuttal shoots me down with a quick “okay but you’re a hot dog”? I’m not winning that argument no matter how strong my points are.

Imagine my surprise when I opened Instagram this morning and found this post from the @CirclingBack account. The post was unbeknownst to me until I saw it live with the rest of you.

What the hell? It’s El Glizzadente on the Vegas Sphere. You have to click through for the full effect but the image actually rotates around the fucking thing. Why?! What a waste of resources this would be.

Imagine you’re driving through Las Vegas and you look up only to see a 30-story El Glizz at the podium staring back at you. All the rubber-necking motorists would cause a massive pile-up collision. And why? Because some Austin-based a-holes think they’re being cute? It’s not funny, guys. This is my reputation you’re running into the ground.

I’m getting concerned texts from friends and loved ones asking why there’s a hot dog version of me on the internet and I don’t have answers for them.

How do I get them to stop? I’m at a loss and I need suggestions. I’ve tried acting like it doesn’t bother me. Didn’t work. I’ve tried not even acknowledging the jokes. No dice. I’ve tried nicely asking them to cut it out. Nope.

Do I make threats? Hire a lawyer? Lean into the bit? I’ll try anything at this point.

The Story Of Jeffery Gene

by Dave

Jeffery Gene pulled his flask from under his coat. He’d taken it off the Ranger he mortally wounded outside of a trading post near Kerrville, Texas a few years before. In the past, Gene used to think about that man, that day, and the family he had undoubtedly broken with just one shot from his rifle. But that was a long time ago, and Gene didn’t do much thinking anymore. He simply didn’t have time to.

The first pull of whiskey was always the longest. Gene’s eyes remained open and focused westward on the horizon as he indulged. It wasn’t like him to make a show of things, and to his credit, he always did his drinking discreetly. Gene was a gentleman at heart, even if he didn’t always show it. For him, one was usually enough, but today was different. The wind was strong from the southeast, and the clouds were building tall like the mountains of Colorado he’d been told about.

He brushed his hand through Bandit’s coat and took another sip. He and Bandit had been through a lot in a short amount of time. In many ways, Bandit knew Gene better than anyone did. Better than the woman who broke his heart in Fort Worth. Better than he knew himself. Gene tightly screwed the top back onto his flask. He knew that this would likely be the batch he’d ever enjoy, so the thought of wasting even the smallest drop was unnerving.

As Gene wiped the sweat from his brow and ran an unclean hand through his dirty blonde hair, he noticed a small pool of blood beginning to puddle next to his left boot. It wouldn’t be much longer for old Gene.

Team Seattle Off To Strong Start In Meet-Up Fundraiser

A more accurate way to put it is Seattle is kicking everyone’s ass, and this is AFTER a donor asked us to move $4,900 of his 5k donation from Team Seattle to the general fund. They have about an $800 lead over second place Atlanta for the time being.

The good news for the other cities is we still have three weeks left until the competition closes. For now, though, it looks like the boys are tossing fish and sipping bing bong in the PNW.

As a reminder, all funds collected will be donated to St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital.

Donate now.

11 Things I Consumed This Week

Will deFries

In the same way that one iPhone came strapped with a U2 album, I’m pretty sure the new iPhones all come strapped with a new Journal app that encourages you to log events through your day. Honestly, I’d rather use a physical notebook but to each their own.

Something I don’t do enough of — I think I’ve only done it once here — is logging the media (and anything else really) that I continually take in. So much goes in one ear and out the other these days that perhaps their’s some value in logging the things that spark us some joy? Idk. Just spitballing here.

Here’s everything I’ve consumed over the last week.

Love Island: Australia (Season 5). My guilty pleasure? Love Island. In any forms. I’ve watched them all. Love Island UK? Talk to me. Love Island Games? Yeah, I was glad Johnny didn’t win too. This past week, I finally finished the marathon that was Love Island: Australia Season 5 and it was quite possibly the messiest season I’ve ever seen despite them not doing a Casa Amor. Zac? You’re a pig. Trent? You’re even worse.
Too much Celsius. I don’t even know. I never thought I’d be a Celsius guy but I’ve been drinking Grape Rush like it’s got crack in it. I mean, hell, it might and I don’t even care. I drank two of those things the other day and felt like I was riding a supersonic wave of emotions.
“Ted Tapes 2024” by Goose. Where my flock at? Okay, but seriously, Goose has had an incredibly dramatic beginning of 2024 due to the departure of their drummer, Ben, who left on vague terms that caused Redditors everywhere to completely implode in the most embarrassing way possible. They’re doing their best to make up for it with Ted Tapes 2024, a 2.5+ hour jam session with their new drummer, Cotter. I’m a “Manu” fan myself.
Duck camo pants. Noted good-friend-of-Circling-Back James has me on a camo pants kick. He’s been absolutely volume-shooting duck camo pants from Depop to me and I’m hitting each one with a “!!” emote. This is male friendship in your 30s. You know, even though I think James is like 27 or something.
Eggplant Pizza. While I’ve been the most misbehaving pescatarian in the history of fish, I’ve still found some veg-forward dishes that I’ve kept in the rotation when meat hasn’t tickled my fancy. My favorite go-to? Pretty much any eggplant pizza offered within driving distance of me. I know, I know, but don’t knock it ‘til you try it.
Frog and Toad on Apple TV. Quite possibly the vibiest of all children’s shows ever created. Always a fan of the books, I later became an even bigger fan of Frog and Toad Bot on Twitter. And now that my son has fallen head over heels in love with the show on Apple TV? Yeah, I’m eating good.
Sooooo many pretzel sticks. Like the tiny ones. Not the large ones that look like Lincoln logs. I’m talking about the little ones that you can’t really dip in anything besides spicy mustard due to a severe lack of surface area. I used to eat them out of a huge tub while watching cartoons as a kid; a classic nostalgia play.
Post-Grammys Miley Cyrus content. Like this tweet that replaced The Mona Lisa with her performance. If we’re buckling up for a Miley renaissance, I’m ready to enjoy the ride.
Boozy Butterscotch from American Spoon. Started near my hometown in Northern Michigan, American Spoon is a company that’s been present in my refrigerator for literal decades. I received a jar of their Boozy Butterscotch for Christmas this year and it’s my new all-time favorite vanilla ice cream topping. Yes, even over olive oil.
Curb Your Enthusiasm, S12 E1: Atlanta. I get the vibe Larry David uses “final season” in the same way Dead and Company use the phrase “final tour,” but I’m not going to let that get in the way of my enjoyment of the first episode. While it’s not the perfect Sunday night television show, I’ll listen to cases in favor of it.
This TikTok of a Caesar Salad Martini: