My enemy has a first names its spelled J-a-s-o-n

Stuck at the Greyhound station with so many forced goodbyes and teary exits I'm reminded of two things: my ever nearing move to the vast mountains and skies of Alberta, and my agonizing defeat in the highly anticipated rematch of Whitney v. Brake. Since I'm sure I'll discuss Alberta significantly in the future, other topics to discuss come at a premium, and must be exploited. My defeat was agonizing not only because of my failings in reaching a fourteenth hot dog consumed, but also due largely to the extreme pain in my stomach. To confirm, this is the type of pain that is only relieved by an equal level of flatulence, which simply isn't an option at a Greyhound terminal, what with all the upstanding citizens who use their services. To those not in the know I will issue a recap of the first battle of the bottomless stomachs.

A time set, a weapon selected, an age-old enemy challenged. Hot dogs and Dr.pepper would be our measuring sticks. Not being vegetarian I obviously selected all beef dogs while Jason went with the far more morally sound veggie option. For eight dogs there was clear skies, smooth sailing, and a veritable feast for easy consumption. But like so many triathletes and marathon runners we eventually hit the wall. The point where every step becomes a battle not only against the clock, but yourself as well. The two of us struggled on, using sit ups, belching, removing clothes, and a few tears to aid as a helping hand. Eventually, reaching a dozen dogs each, we ran out of food and moved on to drinking Dr.pepper as the tiebreaker option. Reaching as high as six sodas consumed I was stung with the need to use the washroom, and this is where debate was born: was using the washroom outside of the rules? No such law being established I fought in my defense and in the end a stalemate was reached, and the contest was to be rescheduled. I stood strongly in my conviction that the singular reason Jason remained in contention was his selection of veggie dogs, as they wreak far less havoc on the internal systems. This brings us to the current date, somewhat.

Throughout the weeks and months following the contest there had been large speculation amongst people who did not attend the event. Word spread and a legend grew of our exploits and the scars left in the kitchen that very day. As anticipated, many expectations were set for a follow up bout, and this was simply not something that could be left unfinished when I head west. So on my lengthy farewell tour I clearly needed to set aside a date in Kitchener.

Three steps up the stairs and my palms are sweating. We needed to take a trip to the grocery store to buy hot dogs and pop. We elected to both select vegetarian dogs and once again our valiant chef Kevin Dent prepared the hot dogs to be consumed in large volume. The first six hot dogs came and went without much attention, and at a frightening pace. For the second set of six I opted to add some taste enhancers. I saw bacon salt and sprinkled it on all my dogs. What I anticipated as a bonus quickly soured. My mouth dried up after one bite of the first dog. With a dried out mouth I fought through six more hot dogs. At this point Jason was fighting the pains, but was still one dog in the lead. Beginning my thirteenth dog we were both in trouble. I took a large bite to finish my hot dog and decided to attempt another strategy. I took a sip of root beer to break down the buns and dog. The bun quickly evaporated and I ate it without hesitation. The dog itself had mutated into a compound the likes of which man has never seen. Attempting to chew multiple times I succumbed and spit out the dog. I had lost to Jason for realzies this time, and had to accept it...

After such an exhilarating evening I think I might elect to sleep in tomorrow. Then again, perhaps I could use an extended bicycle ride.