Ketchup: A Problem That Didn't Need Fixing

So ketchup used to be in those nifty glass bottles, remember? The ones that they sometimes refill again and again in diners...even though it's illegal. Then I guess some people got into the habit of complaining about not being able to control the flow of ketchup. Either too much or nothing at all. Maybe these same people were jerks so their peers and colleagues neglected to offer the ol' Tap-Er-On-The-57 advice. So instead of overcoming their own shortcomings, these grouchy wrong-side-of-the-bedders pushed forward the movement for the plastic squeeze bottle. Or at least that's how I picture it went down.

Plastic is cheaper. It recycles better. And those morons could now control the flow of ketchup on their hamburgers and hotdogs using their own palsied hands. Yay, everyone wins.

But wait, this wasn't enough. Some whiny bastard cuts in and says, "But when I forget to shake it up, I squeeze the water and vinegar all over my bun. Look how soggy it is." (I imagine this guy to look something like Napoleon Dynamite's brother Kip.) Maybe it was those previous grumblers with just another bone to pick. Maybe it was the big wigs at Heinz 57 who decided they weren't pushing enough ketchup down America's throat. But we happened upon the spin-off of spin-offs to liberate us from our worries: a bottle that stopped the terrible plight of watery seepage. (Imagine if QVC or those other bastards got their hands on this idea!)

But again this was not enough. They had to turn the bottle upside down (something many of us had been doing any way) and make the bottle all fat and squat like a fucking beer can. Such ingénue...such a revolution! I would be riding the bandwagon too if it wasn't a worse gimmick than green ketchup and a worse innovation than hotdogs served warm at the Hess gas station...Christ, they’re bad.

The reason I have a stick up my ass is there is absolutely no way to control the flow of ketchup now. It’s either nothing at all or a firehouse-blast. You wind up with a deluge of Catsup on one side, and then, to remedy the accident, you don't squeeze any on the other side. Then you spread it around with your finger, or, if you’re smart, use the hotdog and the bun in a fornicative thrusting and spinning motion. (Does anyone actually say "catsup" these days?) You wind up with tomato shrapnel on the counter and stains on your new boat shoes. Snazzle-fraz! is what I say.

We don’t have to stand for it. But I’m terribly lazy, so I’ll just be a nice consumer and a bad cookout guest as usual. Oh, check out this hot dog.