SAUSAGE 281

Bird Guano’s
SAUSAGE LIFE
The column which says “give me a razor big enough and I will shave the world”

MYSELF: was having dinner with some of my brainy university professor friends the other night and one of them, a physics lecturer, told me a very funny intellectual joke.

READER: A joke! At last! 

MYSELF: Steady on, it’s not for the likes of you. 

READER: I’ll be the judge of that young man! 

MYSELF: Very well, did you hear the one about sodium? 

READER: Na. 

MYSELF: Ha ha ha! Na. Get it? 

READER: Get it? Get what? Explain please. 

MYSELF: Google it.

KISS CONTROVERSY RUMBLES ON
Former Hastings & St Leonards Warriors FC manager Giovani Fuctivano (The Goalfather), who left the club mired in sleaze after accusations from curvy physiotherapist and former lapdancer Sabrina Petto-Massiccio, has, in his new position as chairman of the Nuclear Waste Disposal Solutions League (South), courted yet more controversy, this time in front of dozens of fans at Upper Dicker’s Poundshare Stadium, after the final of the Corby Trouser Press Cup.
The Warriors won the trophy by default when opponents Chiddingly Pharoes FC failed to turn up due to the team bus running out of petrol on the A22.
During the presention of medals, Fuctivano grabbed skipper Nobby Balaclava’s head in a “vice-like grip” and thrust his tongue down the midfield enforcer’s throat.
“It was horrible” midfield dynamo Craig Cattermole told us, “Poor Nobby was powerless to resist the uninvited kiss, which caused his muscular legs to quiver like wobbly jelly. It was a full minute before he was able to compose himself enough to apply the much-feared Balaclava knee to his former boss’s Cohones, followed up with a professional head butt resulting in the so-called Goalfather being stretchered off with a suspected concussion.”

ART REVIEW: FELLATIO POON AT GALLERIA SPAZZURA
I recently visited Upper Dicker’s latest and hippest art centre Galleria Spazzatura, where Le Mie Stronzate, the retrospective featuring Milanese installation artist Fellatio Poon continues to shock
The first thing I was struck by as I entered the gallery was fearsome tattooed curator Celia Dwork, who punched me hard on the upper arm as if to say; “This is art, you ignorant little peasant, open your eyes and get some culture or I will hit you again.”
Once inside, I was confronted with a small knot of angry people gathered under the artist’s vast, epic canvas; If I Had A Million Pounds I’d Spend It All On Biscuits (lemon curd, tea stains and peanut butter on prepared tablecloth, 2005). They are milling around with their sleeves rolled up, comparing bruises, taking selfies and in one case, calling the police.
Classic Poon pieces like Atomic Bomb Occasional Table (1995), and the terrifying Bulbous Lampshade (2002) have lost none of their frisson, whilst the more recent work retains the wilfully obtuse inaccessibility one has come to expect from the great man.
All in all this was a typically provocative Poon show climaxing with four dazzling new interconnected pieces, Unseen I, II, III & IV (media unknown, 2016), all of which are installed in an industrial refrigerator with the artist’s instruction that they be kept securely sealed until 2051. The audacity of the work leaves one stunned, able only to speculate on its content. Would it be a typically Poonish juxtaposition, embracing all the ramifications of unmitigated circumlocution? Or perhaps a playful smorgasbord of titillating fragments, harking back to his earlier, smuttier, wonderbra period? We may never find out, but rumour has it that a certain art collector has secretly purchased the piece for £350,000,000. 

COMPETITION SEEKS WINNER
The Sausage postbag was full to bursting point thanks to the enormous number of entries to last issue’s Spot The Pie competition, but alas, I cannot conceal my disappointment. Yes it was a difficult conundrum, reflecting my total confidence in the intelligence of Sausage Life’s readers, but imagine my horror when I discovered this: There was not one correct answer!
I am publishing the solution next week with a heavy heart, and the competition is now closed.

RUMBLE IN RIO
Cockmarlin-born brawler Typhoon Anger is in Rio de Janeiro, preparing for the heavyweight Olympic qualifier bout with Thailand’s Lala “Ladyboy” Chaluay. Just how fit is the reclusive Typhoon, and can he floor the so-called Bankok Bruiser and go on to win gold? We sent our boxing correspondent to Team Typhoon’s penthouse training centre at the Copacobana Hilton to put these questions to Anger’s flamboyant manager Ron Maserati.
“Make no mistake about it” he told us, “Typhoon is ready. He’s fitter than a Playboy bunny. Skipping is his secret weapon. He skips all the time, including in his sleep. He’s eating nothing but the new superfood, tofu grass. That’s all he eats. It’s made him not just angrier, but hungrier. He’s like a boxed set of The Sopranos”.
“Ladyboy? He doesn’t stand a chance. His footwork is clumsy. My boy’s footwork is like Fred Astaire meets The Bolshoi Ballet in Riverdance . His fists are like two blacksmith’s anvils fired from a medieval catapult. The Bankok Bruiser is a loser. We are already winning the psychological battle. Typhoon’s media team bombards Ladyboy’s TikTok channel every day, making sarcastic comments about his mum, and suggesting he wears lingerie.”

READER: I can’t wait to see that bout! Don’t you love professional face-punching?

MYSELF: Put it this way, I can think of better things to do.

READER: Better? Like what? 

MYSELF: Like, saw my own head off with a breadknife? Like visit Disneyland Paris during the school holidays?

READER: God you’re a misery sometimes. Do you actually like anything?

MYSELF: Of course. I like The Paranormal Games, especially the 100 metres Ouija; and pretty much anything that doesn’t involve obsessive half-witted narcissistic sports-bores who dress like chavs and appear to have learned nothing of value since the age of nine.

READER: You don’t believe in beating about the bush, do you?

MYSELF: Certainly not! How dare you!

DICTIONARY CORNER
Lambasted (n) Sheep born out of wedlock.
Musketeer (n)   Mild deafness, caused by firing antique rifles.
Mumble (n) A cow with a calf.

 

Sausage Life!




Click image to connect. Alice’s Crazy Moon is an offbeat monthly podcast hosted by Alice Platt (BBC, Soho Radio) with the help of roaming reporter Bird Guano a.k.a Colin Gibson (Comic Strip Presents, Sausage Life). Each episode will centre around a different topic chosen by YOU the listener! The show is eclectic mix of music, facts about the artists and songs and a number of surrealistic and bizarre phone-ins and commercials from Bird Guano. Not forgetting everyones favourite poet, Big Pillow!

NB: IF YOU DO NOT HAVE A PAID SUBSCRIPTION TO SPOTIFY, THE SONGS WILL BE OF RESTRICTED LENGTH

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

 

 



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