Which condiment you favor when you lather your hot dog — ketchup or mustard — reveals your politics, according to a noted political scientist.
“People who mostly or entirely use ketchup are much more likely to favor the invasion of Iraq than those who use mustard,” says Dr. Noah Frum, a senior fellow at the prestigious Institute for Political Advantage think tank.
“Red is an aggressive, war-like color, whereas yellow is much more passive and low-key, ” he says. Dr. Frum conducted his study when one of the political parties, looking for an advantage in the upcoming November elections, came to him looking for new ways to identify possible supporters.
“We’d done the usual ones — income, gender, education — so we decided to focus on food.”
Dr Frum gathered a number of subjects together, placed hot dogs and hamburgers in front of them, and gave them their choice of ketchup or mustard. Then he asked their opinions on a number of subjects, including the war in Iraq, terrorism and immigration.
“The ketchup eaters were much more likely to favor aggressive policies than the mustard-eaters,” he says. “Their food preferences weren’t the only thing that was ‘yellow’.” (source)
“The World’s Only Reliable Newspaper”, the Weekly World News, recently revealed this landmark research finding. It all makes sense to me now. Ketchup = red = blood = agression = war = loss = sadness = loneliness = desparation = bathroom foot tapping. At least that’s how I read it, but I am a known sicko.
Given the topic, I thought I would re-publish one of my poetic masterpieces from 2007:
the tao of ketchup
The Master of all condiments
may be squeezed upon the fried potato
but never upon the baked.
One may pour it like the Yangtze along the valley of ground steak
but never upon the choice cut.
Its molten lava red is simple beauty when drizzled upon the scramble
but never upon the soft white of the hard boiled child of the fattened swallow.
It is vinegar.
It is love fruit.
It is sugar.
It is high fructose corn syrup and unpronounceable preservatives.
it is one of fifty-seven varieties.
Reprints only by permission (meaning, send me some dough). I’ll just sit here by my mailbox waiting for my millions to come in.