1000 Ways To Die Hot Dog Novels & Stories

His eyes gleam like a child’s. “Of course you say that—Russians love mayo,” I tease. “I’m not even going to deny that,” he says, nodding with a smirk. I surprise myself by eating more than one hotdog. I’m not a big red-meat eater. I usually stick with chicken or fish. Either I really like these American hotdogs or I’m really famished. I’m so glad Andrei is here in Missouri, at the Wolf Summit. I’d probably die of boredom or loneliness if he wasn’t.

He took another bite. "Yes," I yelled, throwing my free hand in the air. "See, hotdogs are the best food in the world," I stated. He laughed. "I said it wasn't that bad, not the best thing I've ever tasted." He stated. "I think it's official. It's either you are delusional, or you haven't tasted that much food to compare it to." He stated. "No, you just have no taste," I concluded. "Hot dogs are the best food in the world. Everything good only ever happens with a hotdog. I once found a hundred-dollar note under a tree the last time I had a hotdog." I answered.

Emily's POV The music swirled around us, the singer hitting a high, thrilling note that sent the crowd into a roar of excitement. I walked over to Nathan’s table, holding my creation—a chili hot dog. The soft, crusted bread cradled a lavishly seasoned sausage, topped with green bell peppers, scallions, crunchy radishes, spicy jalapeño slices, and finished off with a generous drizzle of my special sauce and melting cheese.

A single blanket lay spread near the edge, with two steaming thermoses and a paper bag that smelled suspiciously of. “Is that from Street Meat?” I asked. He flashed me a smile from where he was crouched on the blanket, already pouring hot chocolate into a thermos lid. "Best hot dogs in the city. Just don't tell my father I said that. And if you do, just know that I would deny it with my life." I laughed, the sound swallowed by the wind. The view was breathtaking. The entire skyline stretched before us, a sea of lights against the setting sun.

Twenty minutes later, I’m hot and sweaty and still haven’t shaken the feeling that something is lurking around the corner, waiting to attack. There’s a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant across the street from the bar that’s open late, no doubt making a killing from all the drunk people who walk over night after night. I get a hotdog—Chicago style, of course—and a Coke simply for the caffeine. I sit on a bench along the street while I eat, watching people mill in and out of the bar.

Jericho joins moments later with a large pack of hotdogs with buns. “I brought these for you,” Jericho hands Kehlani her own pack of tofu dogs. It’s so sweet that he remembered she’s vegetarian. He takes his seat on the ground next to Kehlani and Karter. We all pass around some wooden skewers to stab through the hotdogs and place them over the fire until they are as done as we want them to be. I almost burn mine, liking my hotdogs to be charred and I notice Karter doing the same thing and I smile. Nobody else I know likes almost burnt hotdogs.

Chris's POV I don’t even know when it escapes my lips. The words slip out before I can catch them, and the second they’re in the air, I’d sell what’s left of my dignity to stuff them back down. Ten different ways to die and I just picked the loudest, stupidest one. He stands.

He kneads the flesh with a quiet possessiveness, his thumb rolling over the already hardened tip until I cry out into his mouth. The dessert, thick hot chocolate, is exquisite torture. He smears it on my lips with his fingertip, then cleans them with his mouth, long, sweet, deep kisses that drive me mad. He spreads a little on the tip of my breast, and this time, he doesn't just lick. He takes the whole breast into his mouth, warm and wet, and cleans it with exasperating slowness, suck after suck, until I writhe on his lap, murmuring incoherent pleas.

I finished my breakfast in silence. Just then, I heard Lily saying, "Ms. Lyons, I saw that the lottery draws today. Don't forget to check your ticket!" It suddenly hit me that today was the day the lottery results were announced. Which meant in one week, Lily would jump into the river and take her own life. In other words, I only had seven days to figure this out. I walked to the living room and grabbed the lottery ticket. Then, I entered the numbers into my phone.

Harvey smiled as he gently sliced the sides of the four inches hotdog in front of him as the blood spurred and a scream of the man echoed in the whole room. The boys were cheering. "Just kill me, you bastard!" Jake screamed at him as he was suffering in pain. More painful than getting his skin peeled. Harvey was busy playing on his lower part, cutting it like a hotdog. "So, should we put it in the oven or fry it?" Harvey asked. "We can grill it!" Viper suggested.