I’ve always been a bit miffed at Hooters. Not that lovely women in skimpy outfits don’t hold their attraction for me, but what I’ve always found more than a wee bit disingenuous is the party line from Hooters brass that the name isn’t sexual or misogynistic in any way. “Hooters? It’s our owl mascot! I mean, look at the sign!’
And sure enough. There is an owl on the Hooters sign. But be fair, huh? When was the last time you used the term “hooter” to describe anything feathered and flighty rather than something on someone feathered and flighty. Bottom line – Hooters ain’t fooling anyone.
That’s why I’ve always wanted to open up my own chain of hot dog diners called Wieners & Buns. I’d staff it with young, good-looking guys who wear tight T-shirts and even tighter shorts with a big ol’ suggestive hot dog logo on the front. Then when the same sexist lamebrains who decry that Hooters refers to nothing more than a Woodsy wannabe get all hot under the collar, I could counter with a deadpan, “Hey, Wieners & Buns refers to the hot dogs we sell. Get your mind out of the gutter.”
I guess the only things stopping me from going through with this sardonic plan are my lack of capital, my raging vegetarian tendencies and the fact that I would never stoop to the same sophomoric level as the dillweeds at Hooters.
Pass the mustard.