Hot Dog Stands and Bureaucracy


How many times have we all seen the story, maybe it happened to our kids. Kid opens a lemonade/hot dog/whatever stand to make a bit of change in the summer, and some Permit Patty calls the government. Well, it’s happened again. Let’s let The Victory Girls tell us about it.

Jaequan Faulkner is a thirteen-year-old budding entrepreneur whom any parent would be proud to call their own. He’s the owner/operator of a hot dog stand in North Minneapolis, and what’s more — he’s been doing this for two years already.

It all started in 2016, when Jaequan asked his uncle, Jerome Faulkner, if he could borrow his hot dog roaster. Jaequan got the okay, and it was off to the races for him. He began selling hot dogs that summer to get money for clothes, but now he operates his stand out of sheer love for business. And people:


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This is a fun episode

Cmblake6's Weblog

As for me? I want a TP82. That thing is just too cool:

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Project Weeping Angel

Cmblake6's Weblog

I’ve subscribed to her channel, her style is a bit unusual, but I enjoy her presentations:

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Serious chills from this

Cmblake6's Weblog

I watched JFK die in 1963. We had TVs all over the school (such as they were in 1963), we got the news instantly. We were a huge USMC/USN town in NC, it was the cold war deep and dirty, so they even kept everyone in the elementary school advised. They had them all wired to come on with a flip of the switch in the main office, so we’d know when to place our heads between our legs and kiss our ass goodbye:

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Crooked Hillary. #Boudica_Bpi

Crooked Hillary.

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Putin and the democRATS #Boudica_Bpi

Putin and the democRATS

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The Time I Took my Wife to Meet the Girls at Manos

PUMABydesign001's Blog

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Veterans’ Tales by Vassar Bushmills

You already know the story of my first visit to Manos, the Russian spy-restaurant in Tokyo. It was 1972. It was run by two brothers from Pittsburgh, former OSS officers during WWII, and within shouting distance of the Soviet embassy, where, at the end of every visit, I’d pause to take a leak on their gate.

A small restaurant, Manos was known Tokyo-wide not for its borscht, which was horrible, but that it was the single place in all Tokyo that the upper echelons of the Japanese business, military and political community could meet, then know, (in the biblical sense) a bevy of foreign, many Caucasian, women. Maj Guy, my neighbor, and who’d gotten his CIB as an advisor to the Montagnards in Vietnam, and  chief liaison officer in our G2 section, was a regular at Manos, and had first…

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