The hotdog eating contest started at noon exactly.

Douglas Konopski wins it every year; four years straight

to be exact. “We better get down there Willy; we don’t want

to be late.” “Sure thing Aunt Gillie.” I replied excitedly.

We arrived at the Darringville park at eleven fifty.



Once aunt Gillie lowered me down off of the

electronic wheelchair elevator I wheeled over to the judges stand. I was

astonished to see Douglas already eating to warm up. The small women

at the check-in booth asked in a quiet monotone voice, ”name please”, I was

quick to reply, “Willy Stanloop.” Once I wheeled over to my table, I could

barely get settled in and the ref blew his whistle to start off the

competition.



I was surprised yet pleased to see that Douglas was already

barfing. He usually never barfs. Some people were already throwing in the

towel. I was on my 17th dog when the ref blew the whistle. I was sure

that I won when everyone else was either puking or laying on the

ground. It’s a good thing I hadn’t eaten for 36 hours straight.



Finally I had the victory. This is what I had been waiting all

these years for. I could hardly make it to the judges table
though

the mess of puke. I had finally been awarded the first place medal that I

had been longing for.