SAUSAGE Life 265

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

READER: Have you been following the golf?
MYSELF: I have not been following the golf, nor have I been pursued by it. Why the sudden interest in golf?
READER: It’s The Masters. And anyway I’ve always loved golf.
MYSELF: Golf? You? But you couldn’t hit a barn door with a medicine ball.
READER: You don’t have to play the game to love it. It’s the drama, the pressure, the
lifestyle, the ejaculating champagne.
MYSELF: The enormous amounts of money?
READER: Don’t be so cynical. No doubt you’ll be moaning on about the Grand National next, another great sporting institution.
MYSELF: Ah yes of course I forgot, the great horse bullying jockey-fest is coming up soon, along with the London Marathon. They’re my two favourite events. Apparently due to budgetary restraints caused by the war in Ukraine, certain Grand National rules will now have to be shared with The Marathon.
READER: Is that so? Such as?
MYSELF: This year, any horse or person falling over will be shot, and nursery rhyme characters and pantomime horses will be excluded from both events to avoid alarming children. Also, they are both are going to be sponsored by Pets in a Pickle
READER: The veterinary insurance company?
MYSELF: No the condiment manufacturers
READER: Condiment manufacturers?
MYSELF: Yes, you know. Pets in a Pickle, the perfect accompaniment to that vegan meal you are eating to impress your carnivorous friends. It spices up anything.
READER: Really? What’s in it?
MYSELF: Pets in a Pickle contains vinegar, onion, garlic, tamarind, monosodium glutamate, hamster, goldfish, tortoise, bunny rabbit, baby moo-cow and kitten.
READER: You’re a monster.

THEATRE NEWS
The ambitious stage production of Fitzcarraldo, at the Upper Dicker Playhouse by locally based Irish playwright Finnigan Swake has been cancelled. The story of Brian Sweeney Fitzgerald, the Irish condom manufacturer who transports a three-decked paddle steamer over a small mountain in order to exploit the Peruvian rubber industry is to be postponed indefinitely after it was discovered that the boat was far too big to get in the theatre door.
“It’s a feckin tragedy” said the sweary dramatist, “We just spent 3 months building the set, a scale model of the Amazon Basin with a huge 30 degree hill which the vessel has to negotiate, and then this banjax. The feckwits who supplied the boat told me it was a 1/3rd scale model but it was full feckin size when it turned up on a giant feckin articulated truck. I’m feckin furious.” A spokesperson from Upper Dicker Borough Council told us that the huge paddle steamer will now be used as a floating casino in Rye Harbour where it will also house two hundred illegal immigrants.

SAUSAGE LIFE EASTER SPECIAL:
THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF HOLMES & WATSON
With a more than respectful nod to Myles NaGopaleen’s creation Keats & Chapman
No 29: The strange case of the irreversible palindrome

It was Easter and Holmes and Watson were enjoying a lunch of Guinness and oysters at the bar of O’Rourkes, a delightful pub in Poltroon, County Mayo. The detective and his faithful companion were visiting the Emerald Isle disguised as Catholic priests, as part of a joint undercover investigation between Scotland Yard and The Garda, the Irish constabulary.

Back in London, a suspected smuggling ring involving the profitable Easter egg export industry had left the Metropolitan police completely baffled, and detective inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard had reluctantly requested the famous Sleuth’s assistance. The trail led the pair to the west coast of Ireland, where Holmes had deduced that the flourishing illicit Easter egg trade owed its success to the prohibitive influence of the Roman Catholic Church concerning birth control. The hollow bonbons, he concluded, had been successfully utilised by the criminal gangs to smuggle banned contraceptives into the country.

The pair’s priestly disguises were most convincing and Watson, ever the thespian, was rather beginning to enjoy his role. He had already taken confession from a well-known Irish actress, and Holmes had observed him blessing beggars, and on one occasion, attempting to baptise a baby. During this lunchtime sojourn, as the black ale gradually permeated his brain, Watson began to philosophize.

“Did you know Holmes, that Easter was named after the pagan fertility goddess Oestre?”

Holmes mentally fastened his safety harness as the intoxicated doctor slurred on.

“Does it not strike you as extraordinarily ironic Holmes, that a form of,” – after a brief glance around the bar he hissed the dread word from the corner of his mouth – “birth control, should be smuggled into Ireland in this way? Has it occurred to you that the object in which they have been concealed is an edible representation of the very thing it is designed to obstruct the fertilization of? These are confectionaries remember, whose consumption not only coincides with the celebration of Christ’s resurrection, but which are aimed primarily at children”.
“I mean”, he pleaded “how many pregnancies do you suppose have been thwarted by the prophylactics illegally imported in these hollow, chocolate ovoids?

Holmes, a committed secularist and advocate of the separation of church and state, had up to this point, unlike his theatrically-obsessed companion, seemed mildly uncomfortable in his ecclesiastic guise. Suddenly, however, the detective’s visage assumed a pink, beatific, almost priestly expression as he took a sip from his glass of stout. The famous sleuth’s beetling eyebrows appeared to indicate a forensic perusal of the facts as he pondered Watson’s philosophical conundrum for several minutes.

Eventually, placing the half-drained pint back on the mahogany bar he cleared his throat and spoke; “That would be an egg numerical matter” he stated with an authority bordering on the Papal.

Watson, through a blurred, Guinnessy haze, could only gape like a stranded goldfish. Deciding that a quick exit was his only option, he hopped off his barstool, caught his toe in the metal foot-rail and caromed head-first into the overflowing spittoon.

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

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