The McVie Show Season 4

…Sam Hotdog

One afternoon in the RFM boardroom, management was pondering what to do next.

“Minerva, what’s the latest in R&D?” asked the chairman.

The head of research and development, the lone woman in a roomful of men, pushed back her glasses and, in a prim, I’m-the-school-principal tone, spoke up without rising from her seat. “Research has confirmed that, after kids, the next biggest number of consumers of hotdogs,” and here she gave a slight dramatic pause, “are gay men.”

Silence filled the room. All eyes were on her.

The R&D head, wearing a smug smile on her lips, prolonged the silence by just staring back at them.

The chairman had to say something. “Well,” he said.

The R&D head smiled even wider.

The marketing head spoke up. He always spoke whatever was first on his mind anyway. “Then,” he said, in a similar tone that connected the chairman’s previous one-word sentence, “I think we should really tap into the pink peso! I think we should make a hotdog and name it after a hunk.” His eyes widened as he fell silent, shocked at what he just said at the top of his head.

Again silence filled the room.

“Brilliant,” the chairman said.

Then the murmuring started. Some were scratching their heads, others were muttering to their seatmates. The marketing head, his spirits buoyed by what the chairman said, pushed on further. “The hunk should be from showbiz,” he added. “A star that is hot right now.” There were mumblings of agreement across the table.

The chairman spoke, “Who’s the hottest hunk right now for the gays?”

For the third time that afternoon, one could hear a pin drop on the carpeted floor of the boardroom.

The chairman, sensing his mistake, turned to the R&D head. “Minerva, do you know who’s the hottest hunk right now?” Unfortunately Minerva was a forty-two year old miss who had six dogs as her only companions in her apartment after her mother died five years ago. She stammered, “Well… ah… I think…” before the chairman mercifully cut her off. “I think,” he said, “that we should bring our secretaries in here and ask them.”

Suddenly a voice from the far end of the table was heard: “Sam Milby.”

All eyes turned to the assistant brand manager who spoke up. He started stammering when he realized that not only was everyone staring at him, but they also had puzzled, even accusing, expressions on their faces. “Ah, er, I mean… look, even my girlfriend told me she wants to get it on with that guy,” he quickly added. “I mean, I’m insanely jealous because of that!”

Relief swept across the room. The brand manager, who played badminton regularly with his assistant and had stripped so many times in front of him in the locker room after playing, immediately gave his two-cents’ worth. “Yeah, I agree,” he said. And that was the only thing he would ever say in the entire meeting.

“Sam Milby,” the chairman muttered. “Do we have any other options aside from Sam?”

Miss R&D, eager to make a contribution, chimed in. “Richard Gomez,” she said confidently.

“Too old,” said the marketing head. “I can imagine a foot-long that’s wrinkled and cold.” Ewww, said everyone in the room.

“How about Manny Pacquiao?” said another.

“He’s everywhere,” complained the marketing head, “and besides, I see a short, tough, sweaty cocktail sausage. That’s one salty hotdog.”

“What about Echo Rosales?” said another. The marketing head shook his head. “I’m seeing dark, burnt, brownish instead of bright, juicy red. Plus it looks like a long, thin one. We want tender, juicy, big, fat!” By this time everyone was so busy thinking of options that no one wondered how the marketing head could make a judgment call on Echo’s dick.

“Uhm, Rafael Rossel?”

“He’s half-Norwegian, isn’t he? Are we thinking salmon hotdogs here?” sneered the marketing head, “I don’t think so!”

“But ‘Norwegian Wood’ would be such a great name study,” said the assistant brand manager to no one in particular.

“I know! Richard Gutierrez!” shouted someone. “No,” shouted another, “Richard and Raymond Gutierrez! Twin hotdogs!”

The marketing head brightened. “Imagine, conjoined hotdogs! An alternative to the foot-long! We’ll have to make special hotdog buns for them! Think of the additional revenue avenues!”

“No.” The chairman’s voice was firm. “No twin hotdogs. I don’t want to deal with the mother. And that’s that,” he said, cutting off any objections from the marketing head. “I think I’ll go with Sam Milby. He’s young, fresh, white meat, and his name is very ‘Uncle Sam’ American, and we all know that the hotdog is as American as apple pie and baseball. Yeah, I’m comfortable with Sam.”

He then turned to the marketing head. “Now, I want you and your team to get cracking. I want every homosexual in the Philippines, from Luzon to Mindanao, to say, ‘I want to eat Sam’s hotdog!’ I want them to stuff their mouths with Sam’s hotdog every single day!”

And thus it came to pass:
(This was taken at 6am when the light wasn’t that bright yet. The copy says, “Swift Sam All-Meat Hotdogs. Bagong sarap, bagong kaibigan.”)