SAUSAGE Life 332

Bird Guano’s
SAUSAGE LIFE
The column that throws stones, despite living in a glass house

MYSELF: Why the smug face?

READER: I’ve decided to become a gluten intolerant vegan.

MYSELF: About time too. Everyone was laughing at you

THINKTANK INVENTS NEW GAME
Inventor and genius boffin Professor Gordon Thinktank has been out of public view for some time. It turns out that he and his team have been hard at work on what he calls “a radical new sport”. Although the yet-to-be patented Four-Dimensional Chess which, he claims, is tipped to be included in the 2028 Olympic Games in Los Angeles, is still ‘on the drawing board’, he agreed to meet with us in his underground laboratory, where, amidst bubbling test tubes and scientific apparatus, he attempted to explain the rudiments of the game.
“Four-dimensional chess differs from one, two or three-dimensional chess,” the inventor explained, “in that it is played on horseback, with mallets”. When asked if he had partly based his invention on the ancient gentlemen’s game of Polo, he retorted, “Polo? It’s nothing like polo. Any resemblance to polo is entirely coincidental. For instance in my game, the objective is to score more goals than the opposing team. Players achieve this by driving a small, hard, white ball into the opposing team’s goal using long-handled wooden mallets, whilst riding a horse.” When we pointed out that this was, to all intents and purposes, polo, the professor let out a tirade of language so profane we cannot reproduce it in a family newspaper. “There are four players to a side!” he screamed, hurling a spatula at our photographer, “This is NOT polo! It is four-dimensional chess! Why do they say it is polo!?” Picking up what appeared to be a rejection slip from the patent office, the eminent professor screwed it into a ball, threw it into a nearby waste paper basket and proceeded to kick it around the laboratory whilst weeping uncontrollably. We made our excuses and left.

WIND UP
Gale Derek is headed towards the UK, and is expected to cause widespread chaos in the South-East. Weather experts have warned that Upper Dicker is directly in the path of the category-F storm and local council leaders have advised residents to “stay in and get drunk”. A spokesman from the Meteorological Office said that anyone caught up in the eye of the storm is likely to end up “a bit like Dorothy and her dog Toto, in The Wizard of Oz, flying through the air with farm vehicles and bits of furniture, inside a giant tornado.”
Olympic figure skating gold-medalist Dave Crumhorn (49), of Little Bowling said: “I’m shocked. His children were impeccably mannered and he always kept his lawn mowed. He seemed very polite”, before realising he was not being asked to comment on the recent arrest of local taxi driver Derek Malaprop in connection with what has become known as The Upper Dicker Headless Torso Murders.

TIT FOR TAT
Now that chicken nipples are on the menu at some branches of KFC in Hong Kong, it can’t be long before some of the newer hipster restaurants in town jump on the bandwagon. Upper Dickers’ rare breed eatery Guilty, whose menu already includes baby octopus arms in whale semen, dolphin beak tartare and orangutan tagine surprise, is, I gather, already sourcing some questionable items. Manager Roland Guff was spotted at Glutton-E the annual foodie convention at the exhibition centre in Birmingham, negotiating wholesale prices on giant panda navels, tiger hemorrhoids and gluten-free wax from the ears of the Javan three-thumbed bat.

POETRY WINNER
Our recent poetry competition with the theme Last odours attracted a record number of entries, most of them entirely unsuitable for publication. Two tickets for the adult pantomime Pussy in Boots at The Upper Dicker Coliseum go to Marjorie D’Or of Beyondenden, whose entry Adrienne Bell reproduced below was by far the least nauseous.

ADRIENNE BELL
By Marjorie D’Or
Adrienne Bell
was a popular gel
and entirely devoid of
unpopular smells.
When a man in a sewer
carnally knew ‘er
her friends became fewer
and fewer
and phewer

DICTIONARY CORNER
Handsy (n) one of the original seven dwarves, who along with Gropey and Kneesy was dismissed by Disney in 1952, following complaints from Snow White, who claimed she was fondled whilst under the influence of a rohypnol-laced apple provided by an unidentified Hollywood producer known as The Wicked Queen.

THE BIG FIGHT
Everyone is talking about the upcoming heavyweight glove fest to be staged at The Upper Dicker Theatre of Dreams when 300lb defending champ Norman ‘Slugger‘ Rambeaux goes mano a mano with impudent pretender Kevin “Thundergloves” Pettycote, the local boy with a chip on each shoulder. In the clamour to attend what has been called ‘The fight of the week’, hundreds of eager face-punching fans have crashed the bout’s ticketing site. “
We’ve been overwhelmed,” promoter Bob ‘The Weasel’ Stoat told us, “which means we have been reduced to issuing counterfeit tickets.” adding, “These are great forgeries by the way, not your usual rubbish. They look exactly like the real thing.” He assured us that restricted view tickets will be available from scalpers outside the venue “for as little as four to five times the original price.”
Rambeaux’s manager Ron Casanova told us: “Thundergloves will be pulverised. He doesn’t stand a chance. His footwork is a mess. Slugger can mesmerise you with his feet, which have been described as two stage hypnotists performing Swan Lake at a seance. He’s like an accident waiting for someone to happen to.”

Biffy Mormon, Pettycote’s manager, rejected Casanova’s boasts saying: “His boy’s footwork is overrated. My boy will totally out-dance him. People laughed but his tango lessons have really paid off. Slugger is going to regret stepping into the ring with him. Once he gets going, his fists are just a blur. His right hook is like a blacksmith’s anvil wrapped in a boxing glove fired out of a cannon. Slugger claims to be musically sophisticated, so Thundergloves is planning to wind him up by playing the accordion between rounds.”

Sausage Life!

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Photo credit: Alice’s Dad (circa 2000)

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JACK POUND: JESUS WANTS ME FOR A SUN READER aka PASS THE INSTANT YOGA

CHEMTRAILS ON MY MIND
MORT J SPOONBENDER

On September 11th 1958, José Popacatapetl, a retired tree psychologist who’s father was head gardener for the CIA during the cold war, was hitchiking through the Alberqueque desert when he was picked up by a black sedan driven by J Edgar Hoover’s ex-boyfriend André Pfaff head of FBI underhand operations and extra-terrestrial banking who once worked as a quantum mechanic for the KGB under the direct orders of the zombie reincarnation of Josef Stalin whose mummified corpse was kept in a secret underhand bunker in the basement of the Vatican.

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