Sausage life 298

Bird Guano’s
SAUSAGE LIFE
The column which has an unexpected item in its bagging area

READER: I’ve got a penfriend!
MYSELF: Well I suppose any sort of friend is a start. Where from?
READER: I’m not sure, his letter’s written in a kind of English I don’t understand
MYSELF: Look at the postmark.
READER: Postmark?
MYSELF: Yes, on the stamp
READER: Stamp?
MYSELF: On the envelope!
READER: What’s an envelope?
MYSELF: Oh never mind, let’s see it then.

Hello dear UK penfriend!
It is 07:45 and I am very excited because our posting-man has bring me great news! Next week is beginning of Jürrenskånk festival of death-metal at Køkkesmøl and I, Olaf Bjornsenn have ticket! Yes, for one month I save all my fish-catching money, so I can go with best friend, the horse painter Tjim Nordensenn, to live in tiny tent in mud and look at famous musical groups of Europe. This year Jürrenskånk is starring my favourite group, Køpf Kaputt from Bavaria. In concert programme, Hans Bümerrangen, the singing man from the group have made big promise to fans; he will disembowel live turkey on stage and then have sex with ostrich egg. Rock on! After that he will bite head off bass guitarist and set fire to drummer! Also on bill is Keep Music Dead from England, who sing of advantages of wrist-slashing in voice like Darth Vader! I am so happy I invite Posting-man in for celebration dish of Cremola our famous fish-based custard, and then open jar of our national drink Haakenhurr, made from whale sperm and 90 day old herring, which makes us climb tree with joy and singing.

Hello dear penfriend, now it is tomorrow and letter is still in pocket so I am again writing. Big Haakenhurr hangover means I am too dangerous to go fish-catching. Posting-man is still in tree refusing to come down until I give him supply of Haakenhurr in bucket on a rope. I think men from posting bureau will soon send out search party.

Three days now and posting-man has been collected. I am still feeling bad from existential angst brought on by the Haakenhurr and the tree dwelling so once more I must say no to the fish catching. This is not good because without fish money I must stay home and watch TV, which in my country is very bad. Most popular TV show is Call my Blubber with Knutt Knuttsen where famous TV persons must guess how long the whale has been dead just from the smell! Guests make funny remarks but show must use canned laughter as audiences refuse to attend because of strong dead whale odour. This makes Olaf bored because all play and no fish catching makes very dull boy. My girlfriend Onani comes around but will not stay because of the gloom, even though TV is showing
Død fiskepest, very funny comedy film about Fish Fungus of 1903 which devastated the Norway herring industry.
I will write again soon and tell you of adventures at Jürrenskånk festivalYour penfriend,
Olaf Bjornsenn

READER: What do you think?
MYSELF: I reckon he’s Irish

HELLO, I MUST BE GOING
MP resigns in order to “spend more time with someone else’s family”.
Before the pre-general election meleé even gets into second gear, Ron Gravy, founder member of The British Gravytrain Party (BGP), has announced his intention to retire from public life, after – in his own words – “selflessly representing the BGP in The Royal Borough of Beyondenden for the past 40 years”.
“It is with great regret”, he told this column “that I must stand down from a job to which I have devoted every last penny of my expenses claims. As a man of shameless honesty, whose empathy with his fellow human beings is widely admired; whose many hours in the House of Commons always conformed rigorously to the bare minimum required for the receipt of attendance allowances, it ill-behooves me to make this sad announcement. It is an announcement which will no doubt cause surprise and dismay to many of my loyal constituents, not least The Royal Borough of Beyondenden’s main employer, the justly famous construction firm Lucrative Solutions, who were able, during my tenure, to depend on a positive representation of their financially rewarding and frequently abandoned municipal building schemes at every opportunity in return for the odd moderate inducement.”
“I would also like to assure anyone,” he shouted through a megaphone from the upper deck of Fabuloso, his yacht moored on Eastbourne marina, “who may be currently enjoying a luxury cruise booked through my holiday agency Smitboo.com, that should they find themselves suddenly abandoned in some far-off hostile country without passports or luggage, our AI-automated helpline Boochat will be available 24/7”.
“I am confident “ he added as the Fabuloso set sail, “that the good people of Beyondenden will wish me the very best in my future career as a louche, carefree man-about-town living the simple life somewhere in Europe, where I can, with the help of my secretary Lulu LaVerne, keep a firm grip on some mild alcohol and drug issues whilst the Old Country plunges tragically, like an oligarch’s helicopter, into the English Channel.”

LETTER SPRAY
Amongst the usual bag of hate-mail, requests for my bank details etc, I found this angry letter from Dr. A.A. Troon, head of implied psychology at Upper Dicker University, who thinks that xenophobes “ought to be beaten with sticks”. I have no idea where you are getting your information from doc, but this is what Wykipedia says about xenophobes:
Requiring neither sticks or beaters, the xenophobe is played by expelling air into the lower leather bag until sufficient pressure has built up to cause the flaps to vibrate. As you squeeze the upper bag, you should hear a steady tone, midway between a tenor persiphone and an Eb Calaboose, which can then be modulated by pinching the flaps with the thumb and forefinger and gently shaking the hips.

And then there was this one, which I suspect may have been misdirected by the Post Office.
Dear Col. Mustarde
We invade Kent Thursday. Bring sandwiches and stout brollies. Mrs McGhurka will provide her splendidly invigorating tea, although not cups. Try and be on time, as any hesitation on our part might contribute to a military cock-up the like of which has not been seen since the Battle of Hartlepool (1807), which was where that monkey got his just desserts.

Pull your stomach in you fat bastard,
Ever yaws
Brig. ‘Bandy” Bob Palindrome
3rd Essex Paradigms
Stansted Barracks

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)

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!

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

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