Sighted by Bill Michalski on his travels, this poster raises vastly more questions (and gorges) than it answers. Somewhere, someone was eating a taco and thought, “this is good, but I wish it was also a chili dog.” That this is sold in the same venue as cheap alcohol is no accident. What must it taste like? How could someone unpack this from its carbonite sheath when the truck brings it to the store, put it in some kind of chick incubator, and then look someone in the eye when they bought it?

I’m suddenly reminded of being in a record store at the mall in about 1992. A little boy was trying to buy a CD that consisted of Christmas songs being barked by dogs as a gift for his mother, and the guy behind the counter flatly, steadfastly refused to sell it to him.

“No. No, I’m sorry. You can’t put this under the tree for the woman who gave birth to you. I can’t do that in good conscience.”

“She wants it.”

“No, listen to me. No she doesn’t. Go find something else.”