Sausage 359

Bird Guano’s
SAUSAGE LIFE
The column which is less than the sum of its parts

READER: What are you listening to these days?

MYSELF: The sound of one hand clapping as the other one picks my pocket.

READER: Very amusing. You’ll laugh on the other side of your face when I tell you I just bought a 30-CD boxed set of 80s & 90s classics for £99.99.

MYSELF: CD Classics? 80s and 90s? How much? Are you sure there’s no rubbish hidden in there?

READER: Can you really be suggesting that world famous record company Engulf & Devour Inc, would try to swindle the public by pursuading them to buy hours of worthless slop disguised as pure pop gold?

MYSELF: Nothing could be further from my mind. Engulf and Devour Inc are the proud curators of music’s unsuccessful chancers, talentless warblers and delusional schizophrenics, all of whom will be will be thrilled to find out that their forgettable dross has now acquired the rose-tinted glow of nostalgia, although not the dripping wealth of Reg Dwight.

READER: Quite so, music is subjective after all and in 20 years’ time window cleaners and taxi drivers will be going about their business whistling the catchy tunes of Kanye West and Justin Beiber, which, let’s face it, sound much the same as Cole Porter.

MYSELF: Absolutely. And with better lyrics too.

DUNK SOUP
Although it’s tempting to think that good service has disappeared entirely, I can assure you it has not. This came home to me recently at DFL’S, Upper Dicker’s latest hipster restaurant where I was having lunch with —*—(redacted pending super injunction). Inside the converted 1950s cricket bat factory, everything, including the artisan unisex toilet, has the prefix ‘craft’ attached to it. All the waiters sport long Rasputin-style facial hair, red and blue checked woodsman’s shirts, and braces which can only be described as defiantly pink. As my Avocado Haiku Chowder was delivered by a towering lumberjack called Dave, I noticed with horror that about an inch and a half of his ample face fuzz was dangling in the bowl. The poor chap couldn’t fail to see my furious expression, but thankfully, he appeared to have been brought up properly. Leaning over my shoulder he retrieved the end of his beard with a smile, and carefully wrung the last drop of soup back into the bowl. Good manners cost nothing.

TROUSERGATE
The packed public gallery at Upper Dicker Assizes court no.5 were left stunned when case no 117b, Rosemary & Wilfred Garibaldi vs Hugo Messerschmitt was thrown out of court by His Worshipful Justice Lord Hyphen-Hyphen (presiding).
The jury was reminded by counsel for the defence Sir Patrick Hadaway QC, senior partner with the Newcastle firm of Howayman Hadaway & Shayte that Mr. Messerschmitt, a travelling cheese salesman was arrested last July and charged with indecent exposure after he turned up at the Garibaldi’s wedding reception naked from the waist down.
Questioned by Alastair Tipperary QC acting for the plaintiff, Mrs. Garibaldi told the court that there before any guests had arrived there was a knock on the door around 7pm and when she opened it, she was shocked to see the defendant wearing a jacket and tie, but no trousers, adding; “When I eventually looked at his face, I realised I’d never clapped eyes on him in me life.”
Called to the witness stand, Mr Messerschmidt testified under oath that he had indeed received a postal invitation to the party, albeit one which was addressed to Felicity Smallgoose, a childhood friend of Mrs Garibaldi.
“I thought it was just a typo,” he told the court, “and although I had never heard of the Garibaldis, I love the biscuits of the same name so I thought I’d go along anyway.”
Asked about the omitted trousers he glanced momentarily at a blushing Mrs Garibaldi. “I was in a quandary,” he said, “the invitation’s dress code clearly stated smart but casual, so I chose a dark blue double-breasted mohair suit, which looked very smart, but to be perfectly honest seemed a little lacking in the casual That’s when I had the brainwave – I simply left out the trousers.”
In a final mitigation plea Sir Patrick Hadaway hooked his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets and made this appeal to the court: “Your Honour, my client, having suffered from recurring delirium as a result of contracting childhood malaria from an infected terrapin, cannot be held fully responsible for his actions. Furthermore he has, of his own volition, taken professional advice and now wears medically prescribed trousers, which can only be removed in private.”
There were gasps from the public gallery after Judge Hyphen-Hyphen dismissed the case and awarded the defendant full puisne costs with judice anno mortice plebium, under section 5 of the steam locomotives act of 1847. As Sir Alistair left court, there were astonished gasps from the gallery as was heard to whisper “You owe me a pint your H – see you at the lodge.”

أعطني وظيفة
BBC4’s topical reboot of Ian le Frenais’s gritty 70s sitcom, Auf Weidersein Pet comes to our screens this March. Give Us Your House Bonny Lad concerns a bunch of lads from the north east who decide to ‘get on their bikes’ and head for the Israel-Palestine border, having heard there is plenty of casual labour required for the reconstruction of Benjy Netanyahu’s new Jerusalem. Once they have overcome the language barrier and cultural differences, they begin to adapt to local customs such as property theft and murder. This leads to a string of amusing escapades involving fake cement, drug cartels, members of the Ku Klux Klan, and postal order fraud.

ADVERTORIAL
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VOTES FOR THE DEAD
Famous inventor Professor Gordon Thinktank has been honoured by the local business community. At a recent meeting of The Most Unctuous Order of Ancient and Venerable Warthogs (Upper Dicker Lodge), his ingenious machine for counting the votes of dead people was hailed by The Venerable Warthog’s Grand Wizard and MP for Little Snarling Walter Hootenanny, as “Nothing short of genius,” adding, as he patted professor Thinktank so furiously on the back that he had to be helped back to his feet, “and frankly, not a moment too soon. The deceased, a marginalized, disenfranchised section of our society, have for too long and through no fault of their own, been unfairly denied the democratic right to express their political preferences at the polling booth, simply for being dead. It is time for them to lie down and be counted” (our italics).

BOOKYWOOKS
Scraping The World’s CyberBarrel,
How I used GROK and ketamine to design the ugliest motor vehicle on the planet.
By Elon Musk.
A terrific account of greed, hubris and Trump-style self delusion from the billionaire rocket man, as told to ghost writer A.I. Schlopp. Heavy enough to impress your friends but short enough to read on the bus to work.

Sausage Life!

ATTENZIONE!

‘Watching Paint Die’ EP by Girl Bites Dog is out now and available wherever you rip off your music.

Made entirely without the assistance of AI, each listen is guaranteed to eliminate hair loss, cure gluten intolerance and stop your cat from pissing in next door’s garden.

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.

https://vimeo.com/user129836501

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CAUTION
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