Corn Dogs

I had a corn dog for the first time in Tokyo in 2004, and they tasted almost exactly as I had always imagined they would. Like lightweight loft insulation wrapped around a steamed penis.

The tender pink meat that forms the centre of a corn dog disturbs me more so these days, ever since Warren Ellis tricked me into looking at a series of photographs posted by a recreational drug-user chronicling the removal of the end of his penis with a razorblade. The sight of his severed bell-end - resting so lightly and casually in the palm of his hand in the last image - has never really left my mind's eye.

I don't think I will ever eat another corn dog.