SAUSAGE LIFE 167

 
 
 

SAUSAGE LIFE 167
Bird Guano

The column that likes to go skiing even though it doesn’t really like skiing

READER: I had a really bizarre dream last night.


MYSELF:
Bizarre you say…how curiously fascinating, yet strangely repellent.


READER:
Would you like me to tell you about it?


MYSELF:
As long as you don’t mind me checking my Instagram account and my facebook page at the same time.


READER:
It was so weird. In the dream I was a giant cockroach, and I was lying in bed…..


MYSELF:
Wow! My puppy-drowning video got 37 likes!

 

READER: ……I was lying in bed watching Prime Minister’s Questions. MPs across the political spectrum began to express serious doubts about the whole idea of leaving the EU. The entire house was a heaving sea of weeping ministers, clutching each other for comfort as the evidence linking Brexit with poverty, famine and numerous other biblical plagues mounted up.  American tourists hurled themselves from the public gallery in despair. Just when all seemed lost Liz Truss, the minister for Cheese rose above the swamp of disappointed men like a heroic wooden figurehead nailed to the prow of a Russian oligarch’s gigantic yacht. Through a child’s red and yellow plastic megaphone which made her sound like Darth Vador, she verbally swatted the pathetic doubters like flies. All accusations about her shallow, empty personality and lack of  any discernible soul evaporated as she defended the glorious Brexit agenda with character wit and unambiguous clarity. Hugely important words leapt out of her face like spawning salmon, submerging all opposition in a foaming tsunami  of sarcasm. Then I woke up to find my hot water bottle had burst. Hello? Are you still there?


MYSELF:
Hahaha! Eh? Oh I’m so sorry! I was looking at a photo of a zebra stealing someone’s breakfast through the open window of a motorhome in a Kenyan safari park. Did you say something?

 

SWEAT CHARITY (sic)

I received a letter the other day from a friend who is out in the peak district, “training” for a sponsored mountain-climb. She is raising money for the laudable charity Guard Dogs for The Rich by climbing the north face of the Matterhorn. Fair enough, but really, must one go on about it? I mean come on dear; it’s only a huge mountain! When I was a lad (up north, naturally), mountain-climbing preparations were very simple, and consisted of three things: – plenty of sausage sandwiches, a good thick vest, a jar of Vick’s Vapour Rub, and a thorough grounding in applied mathematics. Mountaineering these days? It’s all Hoover and no attachments if you ask me. Not satisfied with crowing about the climb, she also tells me she has put her name forward for The Great British Bake-Off. I wanted to tell her it was a ridiculous idea, what with her feet, but I fear that will only encourage her.

 

EASTER GIFT IDEAS

After the Christmas debacle, all retail gloves are off this Easter. Virus permitting, we’ll all be peeking eagerly into our resurrection stockings desperate to see what the Easter Bunny has brought us, and looking forward to a traditional Easter egg lunch with all the trimmings.


Should you wish to be the envy of your neighbours, (and who wouldn’t?), here’s a sparkling gift idea well worth maxxing out your credit card for:The Jeff Koons Easter Cracker requires a larger-than-average floor space. Each cracker is 45 ft long and takes five people at either end to pull it. When it opens (with whimper rather than a bang, typically ironic Koons), out falls the novelty – a giant chocolate egg containing a twice-life-size Yorkshire terrier cast in perfumed Istanbul Turkish Delight. Also included is a very long joke with no punchline, emphasizing the notional juxtaposition of poverty and vast, empty wealth. (Available at all branches of the Guggenheim Museum Gift Shop, 5th Ave, NY. £95,000.99 per box of one plus delivery and VAT).

 

 

 
 

WENDY WRITES

Unqualified advice for the lovelorn, the lonely-hearted and the terminally stupid

 
 
 
 

Dear Wendy,

although I am aware that you are not in the strictest sense (no pun intended), a sex therapist, I was wondering if you could offer me some advice. My husband Ralph is the supervisor on the manufacturing floor of an elastic band factory in Upper Dicker (no pun intended). In the course of his work, he is occasionally called upon to test the elasticity of the rubber bands as they come off (no pun intended), the production line. He is often the worse for wear on a Friday evening when, after a stressful week of stress-testing his only recourse is to the gin bottle. My fear is the the that the pressure is getting to him and my question is this; is it acceptable for a man in his forties to wear tartan socks with a cream pinstriped double breasted evening suit, or am I just being terribly old fashioned?

Celia Payne, Dungeoness (no pun intended).

Dear Celia,

Men! What are they like? For your husband to claim that he is is stressed out due to testing elastic bands (!!) is, IMOH, a rather pathetic attempt at grabbing your attention (no pun intended). Gin will be, like Hogarth’s London, his undoing. Weaning him on to something relatively harmless like elderflower wine or gooseberry liqueur should go some way to alleviating his psychosomatic elastic band angst, at which point, God willing, you should attempt to gently dissuade him from his tragic tartan sock delusions.

 

ROBOT WARS

We were intrigued to learn that Hasting’s resident boffin Professor Gordon Thinktank had been asked to donate one of his lifelike automatons to an upcoming online exhibit at Dublin’s Museum of Artificial Intelligence. We telephoned him at his laboratory for a comment and were put on hold, according to the message, whilst he anaesthetised an orangutang. Tina Turner’s Simply The Best was halfway through its 25th play when the famous inventor’s rich baritone voice interrupted:  “Your calls are very important to us” he said cryptically before hanging up. Next day, an unsubstantiated leak from an anonymous source close to the inventor revealed that he was planning to exhibit an updated version of Mr.Bojangles, his ballroom dancing robot, which notoriously sailed undetected through the first three audition rounds of Strictly Come Dancing. The Automatic Dancing Partner as it was originally dubbed, only flunked the show’s final audition on a footwork technicality. The Super Cyborg later married Strictly dancing partner Natalie Bridgework, with whom it fathered four children.  

Mr.Bojangles was only exposed as a robot when its battery exploded causing it to run amok during an electrical thunderstorm outside Charing Cross Station in 2019.

 

Sausage Life!

 
 
 

POISON PEOPLE

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From the album Domestic Bliss

 

MORE FROM GUANO POUNDHAMMER

click image

 
 

POISON PEOPLE

 

POISON PEOPLE

PEOPLE POISON

GONNA MESS UP ON YOUR SCENE

ITS DANGER DANGER

FROM PEOPLE POISON

MAN THEIR SPIRIT IS SO MEAN

 

THEY GOT SLEAZE

DESEASE

KNOCK KNEES AND SCANDALESE

THEY TAKE MY PSYCHE AND THEY GRIND IT DOWN

SLAP A MASK ON MY FACE WHEN THEY COME AROUND

SLASH THE MUSCLES THAT MAKE ME STRONG

FORCE A DRUG UP MY NOSE WHERE IT DOES NOT BELONG

THOSE POISON PEOPLE ARE THE PITS

 

DEEP DOWN THEY’RE SO SHALLOW

BULLSHIT BRAINS

THEIR STRAIGHT AND NARROW

YOU’VE MET EM

 

DON’T LET ‘EM

FUCK WITH YOUR HEAD

THEYD LIKE TO SEE YOU DEAD

OR BLIND YOUR EYES

WITH THERE BRAINLESS LIES

 TIL THE HATE THEY BRING

AND THE SHIT THEY SLING

WITH THEIR DIRTY MINDS

GET YOU ALL THE TIME

 

POISON PEOPLE

PEOPLE POISON

YOUVE GOT TO STAY OUT OF THEIR WAY

ITS DANGER DANGER

FROM PEOPLE POISON

ITS THE HIGH PRICE THAT YOU PAY

WHAT MORE CAN I SAY?

 

WALK WITH THE ANIMALS AND TALK TO THE TREES

IN SPLENDID ISOLATION YOU CAN DO WHAT YOU PLEASE

BUT LISTEN CAREFULLY TO THE WORDS I WROTE

IF PEOPLE GET TO BITE YOU

THERE’S NO ANTIDOTE

POISON PEOPLE DRAG YOU DOWN

ITS DANGER DANGER

FROM PEOPLE POISON

MAN THEIR SPIRIT IS SO MEAN

 

POISON PEOPLE DRAG YOU DOWN

DOWN

DOWN

 

 
 
By Colin Gibson
 
 
 

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