The story so far

After getting taunted by Daniel — "Some people just aren't cut out for the glizzy gauntlet" — shinypiplup announced a comeback in cinematic terms: "Sensei... forgive me. I must go all out." The setup arrived on the evening of May 27th: four buns staged on the counter like soldiers awaiting orders, chopsticks alongside, the microwave clock reading 9:23 PM. "This is the scene in the movie when the retired special ops guy is called back for one last job," they wrote.

Minutes later, four scored and charred dogs emerged on toasted buns, drizzled with ketchup and mayo in a Japanese-style preparation that stood apart from anything else posted that week. The follow-up photo showed a single surviving dog on a clean plate next to a Voodoo Ranger, with the caption: "That was easy."

The whole sequence — the dramatic pre-cook staging, the movie reference, the effortless finish — was exactly the kind of moment this challenge produces when the competition gets real.

Most people go to IKEA for flat-pack furniture and existential dread. theweasel1337 went for the hot dogs — specifically, two of them, loaded edge-to-edge with creamy mac and cheese, served on a paper plate with an IKEA soft-serve cup in the background bearing the cheerful "Hej!" greeting. It is perhaps the most Swedish-American thing ever documented in this challenge.

MelPebbles clocked the photo and asked "Where even is that," and the answer — "IKEA" — landed with the energy of a punchline. The mac-dog is a real menu item at the IKEA food court, and theweasel1337 treated it with the seriousness it deserves: two of them, side by side, no condiments needed.

While the rest of the group was logging dogs from their couches and keyboards, Tilor set up a Coleman two-burner propane stove on a picnic table at the edge of a glacial lake in Grand Teton National Park — snow-capped peaks framed perfectly in the background. The setup was unhurried and scenic: hot dogs sizzling in a pan on one burner, buns toasting on the other, ketchup and chopsticks at the ready.

The finished product — a relish-topped dog held up against that impossibly blue lake and the Teton range — earned an immediate "Gorgeous" from Daniel, who followed up with "Where are you?" Tilor's response: "Le gran teton. French national park in the us. Hon hon hon." Daniel's translation: "ah yes, the big tits."

It's one of the more legitimately breathtaking hot dog backdrops this challenge has seen — a Coleman stove doing its best work a long way from home.

Daniel shipped something new this week: GlizzyClicker, a Cookie Clicker-style idle game at yearoftheglizzy.com/game where your real-world hot dog stats from the Discord — streak length, total dogs eaten, time of day you log them — translate directly into in-game bonuses. MelPebbles' then-110-day streak gave her a 210x production multiplier that made everyone else's numbers look embarrassing. A leaderboard on the home page went up the same afternoon, with MelPebbles already at 1.1 million lifetime glizzies to Daniel's 124K.

The channel lit up. Fish spent an entire Dodger game clicking on his phone while Daniel was literally at the game doing the same thing. Tilor asked when he could earn interest from a hot dog bank. Streaks suddenly became a lot more motivating. Daniel's verdict on building the whole thing: "It's all Claude. I didn't even look at the code."

While everyone else was reaching for a store-bought bun, Randy was in the oven. He posted a tray of a dozen pale, pillow-shaped blobs baking away — homemade rice flour buns, made with yeast, oil, and ambition. The first test run yielded something denser than hoped and prone to falling apart, but by late that same evening he had three of them on a plate, filled with sausages and wholegrain mustard, looking actually pretty good.

Tilor immediately questioned whether rice + sausage technically constitutes a musubi. Randy pushed back hard, then Googled it, then kind of admitted the line was blurry. The group verdict was that it's both a hot dog and a musubi simultaneously, which is either a philosophical breakthrough or a loophole. Randy is already planning version two with tapioca starch as a binder. The invitation for a glizzy party at his place — with homemade buns and Smash Bros — is now officially on the table.

nandopanto had a question for the group: is there a time limit on posting your glizzy pic? The photo in question was from a couple weeks prior — two fully loaded Dodger Dogs held up against a packed, sun-drenched stadium, the diamond green and perfect in the background. Mustard, ketchup, relish, diced onions. The full treatment. Daniel gave the green light, and the dogs were officially on the board.

Then, almost at the same time, nandopanto dropped a second photo: a group of three grinning friends in the stands at what appears to be an Angels game, foil-wrapped dogs piled up in their laps like a small hot dog mountain. Turns out this wasn't a solo mission — it was a full crew outing, glizzies and all. The delayed posts made it feel like finding a hidden roll of film from a very good day.

theweasel1337 brought a fresh location to the group's rotation on May 14th: a bowling alley, tray in hand, two sausage dogs with ketchup and mustard on the side, a pile of golden fries, and the lanes stretching out in the background. It's the kind of meal that fits the venue perfectly — loud, unpretentious, and eaten between frames.

The photo is a solid reminder that a good hot dog doesn't need a kitchen. Sometimes all it needs is a metal basket, some dipping sauce cups, and a spare lane.

Fish checked off a rare venue milestone this week: a hot dog at Disneyland, loaded with Fritos, shredded cheese, and what looked like a hearty drizzle of chili, all served in a cardboard takeout tray alongside a pile of crispy fries. The park's countertop seating and a Coca-Cola cup in the background sealed the setting. Laura reportedly had one too, though her entry was pending a phone upload.

It's the kind of dog that perfectly captures the theme park spirit — a little excessive, a little messy, completely worth it. Fritos as a hot dog topping is a quietly brilliant move, and the crunch-to-sausage ratio in the photo looks genuinely formidable.

On the night of May 12th into the early hours of May 13th, Randy staged what can only be described as a glizzy blitz. It started with a plate of five kimchi dogs, moved through a round of jalapeño and mayo-loaded links, then continued with caramelized onion dogs under purple PC lighting at his desk — all while the group watched the tally climb in real time. By the time mikvelv asked "did you just hit 17 dogs today?!" it was already past midnight and Randy still had 34 minutes left in the day.

MelPebbles cheered from the sidelines, urging a late-night push. Randy's response: "Fuck it." He crept out of bed, leaving Judy sleeping, and emerged minutes later holding a plate of three chili-topped dogs drenched in what appeared to be gochujang. Final count: somewhere north of 17, with the day not officially over. Daniel's reaction the next morning was simply, "you're insane." Randy's defense: "I literally only ate hot dogs today."

Fish turned up to a San Diego Padres game in full game-day gear — SP cap, green mirrored shades, the whole look — and the first photo he posted was a dead-serious selfie holding a plain ballpark dog, the Petco Park scoreboard visible over his shoulder. The chat responded immediately. Tilor noted there were "two weenies" in the picture and left it to everyone to figure out which was which. Fish replied with a plate of two more mustard-loaded dogs.

Then LauMeow posted from the same game: a photo of her mid-bite on a dog, and — the real highlight — a balloon animal hot dog complete with a brown sausage balloon nestled inside a yellow bun, held up in front of the Padres crowd. Padres hot dog balloon art: officially canon.

theweasel1337 showed up to the Renaissance Faire fully expecting a hot-dog-free day — and posted as much, resigned to eating five at home later. Minutes after that message, he corrected himself: "I stand corrected!" The culprit was a stall called "Brats vs Bangers: Spicy Sausage," its painted jousting knights flanking a giant illustrated sausage on a bold yellow sign.

He walked away with two bratwursts piled with sauerkraut, caramelized onions, mustard, and ketchup, plated on white paper trays against a weathered red barn wall. The picture is one of the more picturesque glizzy shots the server has produced. His single-word verdict: "Huzzah!!"

Randy announced his intentions early on the morning of May 12th: he was going to break his single-day hot dog record. Daniel's response — a simple "14?!" — suggested the bar was already pretty high. By 8:44 PM, Randy had posted a plate of five caramelized-onion dogs glowing under the purple light of his PC tower, and mikvelv was already doing the math: 17 dogs in a day.

But the night wasn't over. MelPebbles, clearly invested in seeing Randy push through the final 34 minutes of the day, called him out for a late-night finish. Randy hesitated — Judy was asleep next to him — then typed two words: "Fuck it." Twenty minutes before midnight, he was back with three more franks slathered in chili sauce, plate held aloft in the living room like a trophy.

The final tally, by Randy's own accounting: nothing but hot dogs, all day long. "I'm going to Hell," he told MelPebbles after posting the midnight plate. Given the purple-lit battlefield of buns and the sheer commitment it took to sneak out of bed for a hat trick at 11:40 PM, it's hard to argue with him.

Fish showed up to Petco Park in San Diego Padres gear — brown-and-white fitted cap, green mirror shades, full dead-serious expression — holding a plain hot dog like it owed him money. The selfie landed in the server and immediately drew Tilor's observation that there were two hot dogs in the photo, inviting the reader to figure out which was which. Fish's response was to post two more: a pair of yellow-mustard-loaded beauties wrapped in foil, clearly a second sitting at the ballpark.

LauMeow joined in from the same game, snapping a shot mid-bite in her Hello Kitty Padres hat, plus a bonus photo of a balloon animal twisted into the unmistakable shape of a hot dog in a bun — brown balloon sausage, yellow balloon bun, held aloft against the blue San Diego sky. Baseball park glizzies have a different energy than the keyboard-adjacent dinner plates that dominate the feed, and this outing delivered the full package: sun, baseball, mustard, and balloon art.

After a quiet stretch on the sidelines, Randy came back with a proper occasion — a backyard gathering where two big platters of grilled hot dogs piled with guacamole hit the table. By his count, ten dogs were consumed that afternoon, though he only claimed six in the official log because the photos were, in his words, "confusing." The real highlight came after dark: a circle of friends hoisting loaded hot dogs toward the ceiling lights for an impromptu toast, buns glowing golden, someone's camera on the table catching the whole moment.

The return sparked an immediate reaction in the server. Daniel announced "RANDY'S BACK!!" and theweasel1337, who had been quietly building his own lead, welcomed the competition: "Finally… some competition." Randy's re-entry also coincided with a tease of things to come — he later posted a photo of a gleaming Hakka sausage stuffer sitting on his kitchen island with the caption "Time to glizzy up," signaling that store-bought may soon be a thing of the past.

theweasel1337 rode into the Renaissance Faire expecting to go without — posting a heads-up to the server that hot dogs were nowhere to be found and he'd just have to double up when he got home. A few minutes later, the jousting knights smiled upon him: a stall called "Brats vs. Bangers" materialized out of the medieval mist, its hand-painted sign depicting two armored sausages charging each other on horseback.

The result was two brats loaded with sauerkraut, caramelized onions, whole-grain mustard, and a polka-dot drizzle of ketchup — plated on little paper boats and eaten at a weathered picnic bench in the summer sun. "Huzzah!!" was all theweasel1337 needed to say. For a community that debates the boundaries of what counts as a hot dog with genuine philosophical rigor, getting a streak-saver from a medieval fair sausage stand is exactly the kind of win worth archiving.

While the rest of the server was cranking out dogs at their kitchen counters, Tilor dropped something different on May 2nd: a fully loaded chili-cheese-and-onion dog, served in a compostable takeout box, held aloft against a backdrop of palm trees, lush green hills, and what appears to be a coastal road somewhere decidedly tropical. It's the kind of photo that makes you forget about the scoreboard for a second.

The dog itself looked serious — a generous pile of chili, shredded cheddar, and diced white onion stacked high on a standard bun. The scenery did the rest of the work. No caption needed. Just Tilor, somewhere warm and green, eating a chili dog and apparently not worrying about being displaced in the rankings.

On the evening of April 28th, Daniel was already disappointed — three hot dogs in, sitting in what he suspected was second place in the server's unspoken hot dog consumption competition, staring down theweasel1337's relentless output. He posted a selfie with the look of a man attending his own sentencing, captioning it "Disappointingly eating a third dog." Tilor, ever the supportive voice, remarked that it was actually the look of a man proud of his accomplishments. Daniel was not amused.

What followed was a masterclass in competitive hot dog eating through pure spite. After Daniel declared he was "determined to win this competition," Tilor questioned whether all that salt might legally qualify him as a hot dog himself. The challenge landed. Within minutes Daniel typed: "You know what. You've motivated me to have another dog. Brb." Five minutes later he was back — grimacing, wide-eyed, holding a mustard-draped fourth dog up to the camera like a man who had made a decision and was going to see it through. The server responded with a simple "Godspeed."

C. G. Wilson came to play this week, closing out a personal run of creative builds with three distinct dogs in one sitting: a curry dog smothered in caramelized onions, a classic Dodger dog straight from the foil wrapper, and a loaded LA street dog piled with bacon, peppers, cheese, mustard, and mayo. The spread covered a whole plate and documented a genuine hot dog journey across three different styles.

Daniel's reaction in the chat summed it up: "your dog photos are refreshingly tasty looking — after all of the disgusting pity competition dogs everyone on here is eating." High praise in this server.

After catching a show in Midtown Manhattan, Daniel made the only logical move: a late-night stop at a street cart outside a glowing theater marquee. The photo captures the full scene — the vendor in a pink hoodie working the steamer, the neon signs of Times Square reflected in the background, and Daniel waiting his turn on the sidewalk like every good New Yorker does.

This is the hot dog in its natural habitat. No plate, no kitchen, no chili recipe to debate — just a paper-wrapped dog on a busy city sidewalk at night, the way it was always meant to be eaten.

Somewhere in the Japanese mountains, Randy held up a hot dog and made the whole server jealous. The photo says it all: a spiral-cut sausage wrapped in a soft, pull-apart roll, topped with ketchup and mustard, with a backdrop of green hillsides and a small mountain town stretching out below a blue sky. shinypiplup's caption was perfect — "Hot dog: Japan."

It's a reminder that the Year of the Glizzy knows no borders. Whether you're in your kitchen at midnight or standing at a street-side bakery in the mountains of Japan, the dog finds you.

Randy posted a photo of a tiny, golden-fried pig-in-a-blanket-style bite and said nothing. That was enough to ignite a full constitutional crisis in the Year of the Glizzy. Daniel immediately objected — "I don't fuckin think so bro" — and cited the server's own rulebook: "anything that is a tube of meat-flavored food in roughly hot dog size counts as a hot dog." The key word, Daniel argued, was *roughly*. Randy pushed back that there was no size requirement. shinypiplup threatened to moderate negative one hotdogs. Tilor, for their part, declared "I'm here for a good time not a long time" and sided with lil smoky town.

The ruling ultimately landed somewhere in the gray zone — Daniel suggested eating two more would make it acceptable, but stopped short of an official verdict. It's the kind of debate that only makes sense in a community that has collectively eaten hundreds of hot dogs together, and it was genuinely funny to watch unfold in real time.

Late on a Thursday night, MelPebbles posted a photo that quietly became the most charming image of the week: a chili-topped hot dog on a plate, held out toward the camera — and drawn on the plate in mustard, a little heart with an arrow through it. In the background, someone is fully asleep on the couch, wrapped in a knit blanket, completely unaware they're being immortalized in a hot dog portrait.

It's a small moment, but it lands. The mustard art is delicate and deliberate, the sleeping figure gives it an absurd sweetness, and the whole composition feels like a still from a very niche romantic comedy. Whether the sleeper ever got their dog remains unknown.

Somewhere high above Shibuya — judging by the sea of rooftops and glass towers stretching to the horizon — Randy held a mustard-draped hot dog up to a floor-to-ceiling window and took the photo of the week. The dog, nestled in a toasted pretzel-style bun, floats against one of the world's most recognizable cityscapes like a very American ambassador on a very unofficial diplomatic mission. Randy later captioned it in Japanese: 渋谷の空に浮かぶホットドッグ — "A hot dog floating in the Shibuya sky."

Back in the server, Daniel's immediate response was "Japan dog?!" — and honestly, that's the correct reaction. It's not every day the Year of the Glizzy goes international, let alone to a skyscraper observation deck in one of the world's great cities. This one's going in the archive.

theweasel1337 closed out the week with a proper event: Sonoran-style bacon-wrapped dogs in fresh-baked rolls, drizzled with mustard and hot sauce and tucked into a styrofoam clamshell. The cross-section shot showed a genuinely beautiful bacon wrap. But the real highlight was the follow-up photo — theweasel1337 standing at the dining table mid-bite, wearing a black t-shirt that read "HOT DOG POWERED FUCK MACHINE." Daniel's response was immediate: "This shirt is amazing."

The week wrapped with a proper group sit on April 12th — Daniel, MelPebbles, and a third member gathered around a table, each holding a plate of guac-topped dogs and grinning. Pink drinks, fresh pineapple on the side, and a cat judging silently from the couch behind MelPebbles. Year of the Glizzy, in full effect.

Not many people can say they've logged a hot dog entry from South America, but yoshi_141 pulled it off. Traveling in Peru, they spotted a menu boasting "Jumbo Hot Dogs" in five styles — Clásico Americano, Estilo Alemán, Estilo Peruano, Estilo Argentino, and Cerdo a la Barbacoa — and went for it. What arrived was genuinely stunning: a fat house-smoked sausage on a toasted sesame brioche bun, buried under caramelized onions, yellow mustard, ketchup, and a crown of microgreens and edible flowers, served on a speckled ceramic platter.

yoshi_141 lobbied hard to count it as two dogs "for the size and presentation," to which Daniel replied with a flat "It is very cool and also one hot dog." Ruling stands. Still the most photogenic glizzy of the week by a mile.

Hot dogs and baseball are one of the great American pairings, and Daniel and MelPebbles leaned into it fully at Angel Stadium on April 7th. Daniel held up two relish-and-mustard-loaded dogs against the glowing backdrop of a packed stadium at sunset — a picture-perfect opening night moment. MelPebbles contributed her own ketchup-and-mustard entry from the upper deck, the diamond green and bright below.

Tilor summed it up in the replies: "Baseball dogs are the best dogs." Hard to argue with that.

On the evening of April 4th, MelPebbles and Daniel turned movie night into a full glizzy event. The menu: sausage dogs piled high with coleslaw and a sriracha-orange drizzle, eaten in front of the TV as The Empire Strikes Back loaded up on screen — Yoda visible in the background right as the photo was taken. Daniel posted his own version seconds later, same coleslaw build, slightly different angle.

The real showstopper was the appetizer: MelPebbles sculpted a Yoda head out of guacamole and arranged mini sweet peppers around it like a ring of admirers. Daniel captioned it simply: "Melissa made Yoda-mole because we're gonna watch the empire strikes back." It's a strong argument that hot dog night and movie night are better together.

Tilor rolled up to Coors Field in Denver for what looked like Opening Day — a packed stadium, sunny skies, and cheap tickets because, as he noted, "the Rockies are awful so tickets are $15." He made excellent use of the occasion. The first dog went up at 7:02 PM with the diamond spread out behind it in full afternoon sun. "Anotha one" came minutes later, this time with the entire stadium in frame, a gold ring visible on the hand holding the bun.

By the time he posted his last dog of the day around 10 PM he added "No more please" — which Daniel immediately flagged as a milestone: five in a single day. The running leaderboard chatter that had been simmering all week suddenly made a lot more sense. Tilor had quietly crept past some of his competitors, and Opening Day was his turbo button.

MelPebbles spent several days in New York City this week and made absolutely sure the glizzy streak didn't take a hit. The tour started with a sauerkraut-and-mustard dog unwrapped in what looked like a hotel lobby, then moved to a mustard-zigzag situation eaten right outside the Lexington Av–53 St subway station. The highlight came midday on April 2nd — a dog held up in front of a full-scale Statue of Liberty replica inside what appears to be a Times Square tourist trap restaurant, neon signs blazing in the background.

By April 3rd she was still at it, posting a pre-dawn dog near an ornate brass building door and another from what looked like an airport bar on the way home. Daniel immediately clocked the airport one: "Did you convince an airport restaurant to make you a hot dog that was not on the menu." The mustard application on that one prompted Tilor to note the distribution was "odd," to which Daniel replied it looked like cursive writing. Tilor tested it: 𝓜𝓾𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓭. It totally did.

MelPebbles has a cat named Linus, and Linus has an opinion about hot dogs. Over the course of the week, he appeared in not one but two of her posts — first padding curiously toward a chili dog on a black plate, then lounging on his outdoor cot while MelPebbles ate al fresco on the patio. The community noticed.

Tilor kicked it off: "Did you feed said dog to Linus or was that for you? Asking to see if Linus should now be on the board." Daniel ran with it immediately: "Omg we need a cat hot dog. So we can put him on the board." Linus has yet to officially submit his entry, but based on his supervision record, he's already earning his spot.

Fish showed up to Petco Park dressed for the occasion — a Hello Kitty x San Diego Padres tee, pink-tipped braids, and a bright yellow Padres lanyard around her neck. In her hands: two freshly grabbed ballpark hot dogs wrapped in checkered paper, mustard already applied, grin already enormous. It's the kind of photo that makes the whole community jealous.

The only wrinkle? Fish didn't log them herself. "It's on Laura," she explained. "She needs to log." Whether Laura ever posted is a matter of unresolved community business, but the moment — sunshine, baseball, glizzy in hand — is documented right here.

When Dad -The Great Mod announced he was warming up for a "20 in one shot challenge," nobody was quite sure if he was serious. Then the photos started rolling in. First came a pan loaded with bacon-wrapped hot dogs sizzling alongside a colorful mix of peppers and onions. Then, barely fifteen minutes later, a second pan appeared — this one packed even tighter with more bacon-wrapped glizzys crisped to near-black perfection. "That's round one," he told the channel. "We are drinking tonight so I have backup glizzys ready to go."

Daniel, watching from the sidelines, could only manage "Holly crap" as the count climbed. Dad closed the night with a proclamation that has already entered community legend: "If I don't make it to work Monday, sing stories of my accomplishments." Monday morning status remains unconfirmed.

While most of the server was grinding through home chili dogs all week, yoshi_141 quietly leveled up by making a run to Portillo's Hot Dogs — the Chicago-born institution that takes its chili cheese dogs seriously. The photo shows two loaded dogs drowning in chili and cheese, crinkle fries spilling out of a striped cup beside them, all wrapped in that unmistakable Portillo's red-and-white branding.

It was a clean flex in a week otherwise dominated by homemade attempts. Randy clocked the chili trend immediately: "Lots of chili lately." He wasn't wrong — but at least one person went straight to the source.

On the evening of March 20th, Daniel fired up a full grill — dogs, brats, and sausages all sizzling side by side — with a German Shepherd supervising from the lawn. The photo of him tongs-in-hand, looking like he meant business, said it all. By that night, the gathering had spilled onto the patio, and what followed was something the server rarely sees: a full group hot dog toast.

Hands reached in from every angle, each clutching a loaded brat or glizzy, clinking buns together over a table buried in chip bags, guac, and condiments. MelPebbles had the char-kissed brats, Daniel had his incinerated ones (truly dark), jslyn went rogue with guacamole and stone ground mustard, and mikvelv posted a photo the next morning of a single forgotten dog still on the grill — shriveled, hollowed out, and asking to be put out of its misery. It was a proper party.

MelPebbles posted a photo on March 15th that stopped the channel in its tracks: a hot dog held in front of what looks very much like a live stage set — blue stage lighting, a glowing LED wall of hearts, rigging overhead. Whether it was a theater, a concert venue, or something stranger, the dog made it there regardless, mustard and all.

Fish noticed around this time that MelPebbles was 47 days into a consecutive streak, prompting a "wtf" from him and quiet admiration from the rest of the group. The cats keep making cameos in the background. The streak keeps going.

When you're stuck at an airport and the challenge demands a hot dog, you adapt. On March 15th, theweasel1337 and yoshi_141 found themselves at an Auntie Anne's and made the executive call: pretzel dogs count. Both posted their glossy, pretzel-wrapped sausages within seconds of each other, and the community agreed — Daniel immediately said "Throw that on there!" and decreed it "the closest thing to a hotdog in the entire airport."

It was also theweasel1337's debut week on the board, coming in hot with a chaotic chili dog the day before that Randy described as looking "more like the aftermath than the before consumption picture." A strong entrance by any standard.

Fish took the concept of a ski day lunch to its logical peak on March 9th — a chili cheese dog from Slim's Cantina at June Mountain Resort, eaten with a panoramic view of a snow-dusted valley, a frozen lake, and the Eastern Sierra stretching out behind it. A Mammoth Brewing Co. can stood at attention beside the tray. It was, by any measure, a perfect mountain meal.

The rest of the day held up too. Fish logged two runs on Deer Bowl via Strava, hitting a max speed of 51.7 mph before skidding to a stop — "crashed slightly," as he put it — on the second. June Mountain was empty on a Monday in March, and Fish made the most of it: smooth groomed blacks, big views, zero crowds. Then he drove the whole way back to San Diego.

Running low on mustard packets at the office is a crisis most people would solve by going without. MelPebbles solved it differently. On March 4th, somewhere behind a "BCA Staff Only" sign, she topped her hot dog with a generous swoop of Violife cream cheese and took a bite mid-shift. The result looked chaotic — a foil container, a half-eaten bun, a smear of white that drew immediate "🤢" from Daniel — but MelPebbles held firm: "It's delicious actually."

It's a genuinely divisive topping choice, the kind that sparks real debate. But there's something to be said for the person who, out of condiment necessity, invents their own thing and stands behind it.

Most people fuel a ski day with overpriced lodge nachos or a sad cup of chili. Fish had other ideas. On March 8th, he showed up to what appears to be Mammoth Mountain — snowboard propped against the rock, a panoramic view of the Sierra Nevada stretching behind him — and pulled out a foil-wrapped hot dog. Then another. Two hands, two dogs, mouth wide open, grinning like he'd just solved something the rest of us hadn't figured out yet.

The photos say everything. Blue sky, fresh snow, other skiers cruising past in the background completely unaware that something genuinely important was happening just off the run. Fish, leaning against a boulder at elevation, absolutely going for it. Daniel's reaction in the chat was just "Omfg!" — which, honestly, covered it.

By the morning of February 26th, Tilor announced the group had 25 hot dogs left before hitting 1,000 total — a number confirmed by both a ChatGPT query and a quick manual tally. The countdown had been building all week, with daily updates: 97 to go, then 35, then 25. Tilor even joked the person who hits dog number 1,000 would receive a free lipid cholesterol panel, courtesy of Year of the Glizzy.

The milestone wasn't claimed by one person — it crept up on the whole group through a relentless collective output. Shinypiplup was averaging four elaborately topped dogs a sitting. Randy was deep into homemade sausage territory. Freddyfingers was knocking out four-dog sessions between lunch and dinner. Daniel started photographing his kraut dogs with a Sony a7c on a 50mm prime because, apparently, the occasion demanded it. It's the kind of number that sounds absurd until you realize these people have been eating hot dogs for breakfast.

Sometime around 6 AM on February 23rd, a group of guys convened somewhere with yellow chairs in the background and proceeded to toast buns and eat hot dogs together. Daniel posted a glazed dog with what looked like hoisin sauce. MelPebbles had a tiny frank on a giant oversized bun. Philthy_Love showed up drizzling mustard packets. Then came the photo that made the group chat lose it: Daniel and another guy on a couch holding their hot dogs out toward the camera for a toast, grinning like they'd just won something.

Shinypiplup immediately replied that they'd award double points if the two did it Lady and the Tramp style, meeting from opposite ends of the same dog. The offer was declined. Randy called it one of his favorite posts of the year. It had all the hallmarks of a proper glizzy occasion: matching plates, multiple participants, and the kind of camaraderie that only comes from eating something ridiculous together at sunrise.

Randy spent the better part of February 26th running a full backyard sausage production. The grill photos tell the story: dozens of linked, homemade dogs coiling across the grates, slicked with rendered fat and kissed with char. The recipe he'd been refining — five-spice, soy sauce, rice vinegar, MSG, a blend of chicken and beef, mushroom umami, sesame oil, cashews for texture — had finally come together after a week of testing runs.

By the end of the night he'd eaten at least five of his own creations in various configurations: stone-ground mustard, ketchup, whole-grain. Dinner that night was also dogs. And he cut up more for his partner Judy's spaghetti because, as he put it, she won't eat them in a bun. Daniel's response — just a headbanging Beavis and Butt-Head gif — said everything. The rest of the group started asking about taking custom orders. shinypiplup floated a Filipino longganisa version: brown sugar, vinegar, garlic, achuete. Randy said once he gets a better sausage stuffer, he's open for business.

On the night of February 19th, somewhere in a hotel lobby, MelPebbles did what had to be done. Streak on the line, no kitchen in sight, she found a pack of hot dogs, tracked down a microwave, and produced one very modest mustard dog resting on a napkin. No fanfare, no toppings beyond a well-squeezed packet of yellow mustard.

Daniel announced it to the channel with the reverence it deserved: "Melissa heated this up in the microwave in the hotel lobby just to keep her streak alive." The community understood immediately. SweetVillian tipped a metaphorical hot dog hat. It's the kind of commitment that doesn't show up in the toppings.

What started as a Valentine's Day plate of ketchup-drizzled dogs quietly escalated into something much more ambitious. By February 16th, Randy had pulled out a meat grinder, natural hog casings, and enough chicken thighs to fill a cutting board with coiled, homemade sausages. The first batch came out about 75% right — some looked like "turds," a few overstuffed ones popped — but the learning curve was fast.

By the next day, the finished dogs were getting rave reviews from Randy himself: seasoned with smoked paprika, MSG, garlic paste, Trader Joe's mushroom umami powder, and a little guar gum for that classic snap. Three of them on brioche buns with whole-grain mustard clocked in at 117 grams of protein. The community immediately started workshopping improvements — liquid smoke, apple pieces for sweetness, thinner casings, cold smoking — while shinypiplup pointed out the macros blew Costco chicken sausages out of the water. Not bad for a self-described "first sad batch."

On a rainy Valentine's Day trip, Tilor found what might be the greatest hot dog-adjacent artifact in existence: a diner with a life-size corn dog statue out front, complete with a saddle. He climbed on, fist raised, grinning. He then went inside and ordered what turned out to be an absurdly long corn dog — longer than his entire hand — alongside dipping cups of mustard and jam. His wife Steph got a veggie version. It was a genuine moment.

There was just one problem: per server rules, corn dogs don't count. Fish invoked the rulebook almost immediately. Tilor conceded gracefully — "rules are rules" — and Daniel softened the blow: "You got to eat a delicious long corn dog so no love lost." Randy, sympathetic, felt it should have counted. The archive will remember it anyway.

Most people celebrate a round-number milestone with a nice dinner out. Randy celebrated his 100th hot dog of the Year of the Glizzy by drizzling Ghirardelli premium chocolate sauce over a plain bun and announcing, simply, "My 100th dog had to be something special." The channel erupted. The chocolate dog was followed the same afternoon by a three-dog plate featuring sambal, Dijon, and hoisin — one of each, tested and graded in real time. "Too much hoisin too," Randy concluded, having apparently moved past the chocolate one without complaint.

The 100-dog mark also triggered a quiet arms race in the standings. shinypiplup admitted he was "clearly slacking" if someone was within 30 dogs of him, and responded by firing off four more that night. The competition, at this point, had fully crossed into something nobody can explain to a normal person.

Super Bowl Sunday is supposed to be peak hot dog territory, but as Daniel noted that evening, there were "surprisingly few" logged. What logs did land, though, were worth celebrating. SweetVillian showed up with a cheese dog at what looked like a backyard watch party — tent up, TV blaring, full spread on the plate. nandopanto brought both a burger and a mustard-dressed glizzy to the same gathering. And shinypiplup quietly went hardest, knocking out two rounds in one night: first a pair buried under fresh guacamole at 11pm, then a coleslaw-and-mustard duo the next afternoon.

Meanwhile, Freddyfingers had smoked pulled pork and Fish had smoked ribs, so they called themselves out. The real story was who stayed the course — and shinypiplup's guac dog became a recurring theme all week, prompting Tilor's immortal line: "He's living that guac and roll lifestyle."

On the afternoon of February 4th, montyv walked into Wienerschnitzel #734 on Hamner Ave in Norco, California, ordered 20 chili dogs, and posted both the food and the receipt. Twenty dogs. $21.75 after discounts. Dine in. "I just want to surpass Daniel once," he explained. Tilor called him a monster. The community briefly bowed.

But montyv wasn't done. He went to baseball practice and came back for more, posting another five-dog plate late that night. In the end he logged somewhere north of 10 dogs in the day — a new personal record and what looked like a commanding lead. Randy had other ideas, as it turned out, but for a few hours on a Tuesday afternoon, montyv sat alone at the top of the leaderboard with a crumpled pile of Wienerschnitzel wrappers and no regrets.

Somewhere amid pines and snowpack, Randy held two mustard-draped hot dogs out over a railing with a snowy trail stretching behind them and posted it without a single word of explanation. The photo did the talking. It appeared twice across two consecutive days — same spot, same two dogs — suggesting Randy was either on a winter trip or had found his personal hot dog sanctuary.

mikvelv drew the line immediately: "Only counts as a snow dog if there is snow on the dog." Randy did not comply. The debate over what constitutes a legitimate snow dog may never be resolved, but the images remain genuinely striking — crisp alpine light, evergreens, and a pair of glizzies that clearly went somewhere.

On the night of February 4th, Randy drove to a Wienerschnitzel, posted a photo from the parking lot with the caption "Spoiler alert," and then proceeded to quietly dismantle the group's hot dog consumption record. montyv had earlier set what seemed like an untouchable mark — 10 chili dogs from Wienerschnitzel in Norco, CA, receipt and all — and spent the rest of the day adding more from home to solidify his lead. Randy, apparently, had other plans.

By the time the dust settled, Randy had put down 12 hot dogs in a single sitting. He admitted later that he was essentially done at 7, was already editing a video, and "couldn't swallow the failure of not reaching 10" — so he spent an hour grinding through the rest. montyv, gracious in defeat, called it "glorious." Daniel, the reigning community patriarch, responded with a simple "What have I done." shinypiplup summed up the mood perfectly: "I'm scared. This is a prelude to something."

After going quiet for a stretch, Fish came back strong with a plate of three mustard dogs served right on top of a fully spread-out board game — what looks like Race for the Galaxy or something of that fantasy ilk, cards fanned everywhere, dice scattered, a pint of beer already poured. It's the most chaotic and cozy hot dog photo of the week.

Daniel's reaction upon seeing it: "He's back in the game!" Fish was humble about it — "I fell behind quite a bit lmao. Y'all are wild" — but the image of three golden dogs sitting in front of a sprawling game board with a craft beer in the background is exactly the kind of thing the Year of the Glizzy was built for.

By the final night of January, shinypiplup was a few dogs short of 100 and the whole server knew it. mikvelv was counting down the minutes — "2 hours 50 min left" — while Daniel refreshed the leaderboard from bed. shinypiplup poured some beers, fired up the stove, and jumped into voice chat to cook the final stretch live on stream with a nearly dead phone battery.

The 100th dog arrived sometime around 7 AM Pacific, just before the calendar flipped. The server erupted. Randy called it "Epic." Daniel, watching from bed, said simply: "What a mad lad." Asked the next day how it felt to have hit 100, shinypiplup delivered the only appropriate response: "The work never ends. There is no rest for me yet."

On the last Wednesday of January — Wienerschnitzel Wednesday — montyv drove to the Norco location on Hamner Ave, sat down dine-in, and ordered twenty chili dogs in one shot. The receipt tells the whole story: 20 Chili Dog @ $3.59, five discount offers stacked to bring the total down to a very reasonable $27.18. The stack of wrapped dogs in the photo looks like something you'd find in a stadium supply room.

Back in the server, mikvelv immediately started taunting shinypiplup about whether they could match the pace. montyv's response was understated: "A 20 pack is not 💯 ?" By month's end the group had tallied 548 total hot dogs across the competition, and montyv was floating the idea of a 1,000-dog February.

Randy showed up to the channel one evening with a plate of three hot dogs topped with what appeared to be shredded daikon and carrots — and a Super Saiyan Goku figurine standing guard beside them. No caption, no explanation. Just vibes and a power level over 9,000.

The chat was delighted. The topping combination was clean and genuinely interesting, the kind of build that suggests someone has thought about hot dogs with more care than the average person. Randy later confirmed the dogs were dressed Vietnamese-style, adjacent to a thịt nướng situation he'd also been cooking that week. The Goku figure, it turned out, just happened to be on the counter — a detail that made the whole photo feel perfectly unplanned.

Some people meal prep. montyv just drives to Wienerschnitzel #734 in Norco, California and orders twenty chili dogs in one sitting. The receipt tells the whole story: 20 Chili Dogs at $3.59 each, five deal offers bringing the total down to a jaw-dropping $21.75 — roughly a dollar a dog. The photo that followed showed two heaping plates of chili-drenched franks presided over by a baseball cap emblazoned with a cartoon hot dog mascot. It was, as the channel put it, meant to be.

The community reaction was swift. "You're a mad man," said Daniel, who had paid $16.93 for just three dogs earlier that week. montyv was unphased: "I'm just trying to unlock your potential, Daniel." He documented eating ten of the dogs on a time-lapse, admitting the last three were "totally forced down." The remaining ten went home as leftovers, appearing again the next night on the marble countertop, still flanked by that fateful hat.

On the evening of January 5th, Daniel announced it: the community had collectively logged 100 hot dogs in five days. The revelation landed around 1am when MelPebbles posted a plate of four bratwurst-style sausages with sauerkraut, peppers, and mustard — apparently the dog that pushed the counter over the top. Daniel's all-caps celebration hit immediately.

The math quickly followed. With 13 people on the leaderboard, hitting 100,000 by year's end would require each person to eat 21 dogs a day. MelPebbles said "let's dooooo it." shinypiplup said "oof ouchie my bones." Daniel said no. But the milestone was real, and the competitive energy it kicked off — with Tilor climbing into second, nandopanto making elaborate late-night spreads, and mikvelv firing up the glizzy poker on the grill — made it a genuine turning point in the Year of the Glizzy.

Late on January 7th, MelPebbles posted a plate of four distinct hot dogs — one loaded with avocado and chili crisp, one with quick-pickled carrot and cucumber matchsticks in hoisin, one heaped with sauerkraut and corn, and one with caramelized onion. The channel immediately erupted. LauMeow declared Melissa had "that DAWG in you," and SweetVillian demanded the banh mi dog recipe on the spot.

MelPebbles obliged: quick-pickle the veg in lime juice, rice vinegar, salt, and water; slather mayo on a toasted bun; finish with hoisin and chili crisp. Simple, she said. The server did not find it simple. Daniel's response was to note that this might be why he was slipping in the standings.

Randy showed up late in the week's competition but made it count: a hot dog nestled in nori and sushi rice, drizzled with sriracha and hoisin, held in hand over the dinner table. It's the kind of build that makes you stop scrolling. The photo also captured a buddy leaning in, grinning, with a glass of white wine in hand — a proper little hot dog dinner party.

Judy joined the frame too, holding her own loaded plate in the kitchen, two dogs ready to go. Between Randy's nori dog, the smiles, and the sauce lineup on the table, this was one of the more genuinely fun-looking eating sessions of the week — actual company, actual effort, actual joy.