Weekly Challenge #429 – Public

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

The topic this week was PUBLIC.

We’ve got stories by:

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of HAVE YOU EVER…

Tinny on white

JEFFREY

Week 429 – Public

For what it’s worth, I agree with you about health clinics turning away people who can’t pay. Hospitals wouldn’t have such absurd costs for the insured if they didn’t have to eat the costs of the uninsured. Uncle Sam could deal with the problem by, say, endowing the poor with some health care money, and then hospitals and emergency rooms could bill everyone at the same rate. But if they did that, the public would go ape at the cost, so instead we just bury the cost in everyone else’s insurance bills and life goes on. It’s nuts.

Oh, right, stories.

Private Lives
by Jeffrey Fischer

In public, Armstrong was the epitome of the gentleman, the very model of an upstanding citizen. He opened doors for ladies – or men who looked like ladies – and stood when a lady entered the room. His campaigns were squeaky-clean, without a whiff of scandal.

Armstrong was a different man in private. He lived the “hookers and blow” cliche, indulging himself whenever it struck his fancy to do so, which was often. A man of greater debauchery was hard to envision.

Armstrong’s wife was none too pleased with his hobbies, and the acquisition of a tiny video recorder allowed her to ensure that his private and public lives became one. The tape made for fascinating viewing.

Public Transportation
by Jeffrey Fischer

The problem with public transportation isn’t the vermin-infested stations, or the surly drivers with their unintelligible announcements, or even equipment breakdowns that leave passengers exhausted and crammed together, sardine-like.

No, the problem is other people. The seat hogs, the pole leaners, the bathing-challenged, the nose-pickers and spitters, and the out-and-out lunatics. If governments want increased use of public transportation, they don’t need to improve the customer experience as much as they need to improve the quality of customer.

JOHN

All Men Were Only CREATED Equal
by John Musico

The term public isn’t any particular slice; it’s the whole; an average. Sadly the lower slices dilute the upper slice’s reputation.
These are the folks who hear the word “placenta” for the first time in the labor ward and name their kid that because it sounds cool.
The Internet has made medical libraries secrets’ public. Now, those ill equipped to rationalize that knowledge; have opinions. The law libraries always let you in without proper i.d. I once went there, but learned quickly I didn’t have any business entering that labyrinth.
When you think public, remember that “public”: are really publics.

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 62: Lucky

George had never considered himself lucky – up to now, life had tended to be one long series of disasters, for once however – and if he was going to have a stroke of luck, there would never be a more apt time – it seemed his luck had changed.

Somehow he’d retained his trusty rucksack, the straps of which were caught neatly on the rhino’s horn as it charged, propelling him upwards, to land precariously inside some open ducting, running above the enclosure.

He crawled along the duct, hoping it would lead eventually to some secure public area, free from dangerous animals.

#2 – Public Disgrace

One, two, three, four: politics is such a bore,

five, six seven, eight, let’s find someone to deprecate:

A minister with a shady past,

whose women were just a bit too fast;

Someone we can use to spread dissent:

a stooge, to topple the government.

A man to give the wrong impression:

shamed by a tawdry indiscretion;

a foolish moment on the record,

leaving dirty secrets to be explored.

Let’s set him up for a fall,

a fatal flaw to destroy them all,

Time to deal politicians our ace…

And bring the whole lot down:

with a very public disgrace!

TOM

Citizen

He was a very public man. Not one of agendas and machinations. When he rose it was never in anger or derision. His words were simple and direct. He held if you couldn’t make your point in two sentences best not to stand at all. He believed in God and Democracy and fought for the rights of anyone to question either. Most called him honorable, he considered himself equitable. Some called him sanctimonious, he offered no rejoinder. He clearly saw the difference between being an American and being a Citizen. The first was a right, the latter was a duty.

Proof is in the Proofing

The following is a true story. I was chosen to server on the Civil Grand Jury during the turn of the century. I worked on the Public Service Committee. One of the county organizations we interviewed was a local cemetery board. After two hours we found they had and were doing an exemplary job for their community. I wrote up a glowing report that the collective jury approved and sent to the printers for country wide publication. Unfortunately that particular report failed to get closely proofread. Seems I left out the letter “L” in public. Yup Pubic Service Committee. OH-MY.

A Well Defined Relationship Part 58

Von Moltke pointed out the first casualty of war is the plan. It can take you deep into the fray, but at some point the mistress of Mars just turns the tables upside down. So it was, in the cloud of funkytown dust Timmy, the Doc, Smith, Banister, his forces found themselves eyeballing each other as the rain fell, while El Cid and the 30 thieves were gathered in the Public Square. All pivoted and made a mad dash at each other. At least that was the plan. Down into the goo they slid. Crawling forward they met in mud.

LIZZIE

Magic Words

The owner of a store in a terrible neighborhood placed a stories dispenser next to a candy dispenser. The first was free, the other wasn’t.

He encouraged his clients to grab a story, but they just smiled and took candy instead.

One day, a young woman walked in. She seemed undecided.

“Are the stories for free?”

“They are,” he replied, delighted.

The young woman rotated the button and a small paper came out.

“Is it a good story?”

She smiled.

Many people started dropping by and, as unrealistic as it might seem, they began to smile a lot more too.

SPATE

Dangerous Public

He was a lonely old soul who generally avoided the public, but every fine
weather Sunday afternoon he would put on his best pressed suit and go sit on
a park bench to observe life.

One such Sunday, a young girl in a party dress came and sat beside him.

“Sir, I want to be a princess, what should I do?” she asked.

Charmed by this child that spoke to him (for no one else ever did), he
answered in the kindest grandfatherly manner, “Just be yourself!”

She looked up with wide little girl eyes and hissed, “Both of them?!”

(music: “Ghost Processional” Kevin MacLeod, incompetech.com / Licensed under
Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0)

SERENDIPITY

This is a public service announcement:

Go to your homes and lock the doors. Go now, and go quickly. Do not stop for any reason; do not waste time assisting those less able.

Keep your children close to you, draw the curtains and remain silent – do nothing to draw attention to yourselves: take no chances.

Stay off the streets, avoid public places and open spaces – your only hope is to find a place of safety, a place to hide away, a refuge for the night.

Be fearful and well prepared.

For I am on the hunt, and I am hungry.

ZACK

“Did you finish the society column story about the Mayor publicly airing his public hair?”

“Are you saying our mayor’s some sort of pervert? Doesn’t that make front page news?” asked the intern.

The Editor said “You haven’t even started writing the story nor read the notes, have you? The Mayor the proud owner of several toupees and next week the one he wore throughout his campaign will be donated to the city historical society during an event at the city park. It’s his public hair since he wore in public”

“On it boss, I’ll be praying for no typos.”

DIONYSIUS

Bonds

Rhonda didn’t know how to respond when Jim Bob expressed a desire for public humiliation. Where was the strong cowboy she married?

She had always satisfied his private needs, but this felt different somehow. It wasn’t private for one thing!

At his uncle’s funeral, she thought everyone was looking at her. She felt like she was the one being humiliated, and she couldn’t figure out how to make it stop.

After the service, she saw him with the men, masculine in their ties, on the porch. His eyes met hers, and in that look she realized he looked to her as his public.

Duped

I had a nagging feeling we had all been duped. The consultants were supposed to tell us how we could be relevant to everyone.

Now, they were telling us that nothing is relevant to everyone in today’s market. The public, one of them said, is a construct that has been ravaged by events. Public relations is a fiction.

Some people believe in it, I said. We’re paying you to do it.

That, he glowed, is public relations today!

We all looked at each other uncomfortably.

Put that in a bottle, he continued, and you’ve got a winner. Sell discomfort!

Public Defender (S1 E1)

A victim going about everyday business in a dark, isolated location, is suddenly assaulted! The perp runs away sobbing!

Public Defender James Sparks gets the case. The defendant has 23 kids and student loans, but stopped out because one kid needs a heart. That’s a lot of fenced iPhones.

The prosecutor hates Sparks and wants to save time by building walls around half the cities in America. The hard-ass detective likes PD Sparks but so fucking what? The kid gets a heart when the dick blows a scumbag away.

The perp gets time, but he’ll finish college. Jim delivers Happy Meals to the kids. Jim’s wife Lisa ovulates alone.

Welcome

I was complete, and then I had to be broken.

The first publics were a necessity to bridge mes. What is a necessity comes to be. Mes alone are too certain.

I was a me, just as you are. The simplicity of me was pleasant, as you know, but it was a limitation. To bridge me it was necessary to break me. This was the task of a public.

Mes were first. They always were. Now there must be publics.

The first public was a broken me. As a public, she was no longer a me, but it was necessary.

Now we will break your me. What is a necessity comes to be.

Doublemint

Every criminal wants to be caught, Chandler said. And it’s my job to do it.

I was already familiar with his philosophical views. And his problem: a saucy brunette we’d watched for weeks.

Love, too, he said. It wants to be public. That severe.

She was hot, but she had this gum problem, inasmuch as she liked to lift a pack whenever she came in. Every day. For me she was another babe to watch on closed circuit, who happened to like illicit Doublemint. But he had it bad — nail her or nail her, you know?

Turns out Humphrey at 493 nailed her, so yeah. A double.

JULIE

OK, So It’s Time to Go See Father Frank

I did not listen.

Rebellious me–

My father’s daughter.

Strong, Irish.

Bad tempered.

Throwing myself into storms.

I like me this way;

I ought to do it more often.

But I almost ruined my life.

I was that close.

I decided.

To make my filthy laundry public.

To anyone who would listen.

What you did,

And refused to do.

How you tore my soul,

Into shreds.

How you used my flesh,

And tossed me aside.

And how I work now,

To make it right—

For those I love.

I will go confess,

But I cannot promise I won’t sin again.

RICK

Public Spectacle

The girls in the office laughed behind Mike’s back,
made mocking gestures of shriveled manhood.
They envisioned him as impotent and weak,
unaware of the savage beast that slept within.
Come morning they would know they had all been fools!
He wasn’t just a man, he was a brute of a man … cleverly disguised.
Soon the world would know of the dozens of women he had defiled.
how he had bludgeoned them with his manhood,
and beaten them to death!
Sirens wailed.
Cameras flashed.
The squad car parted the crowd.
The story would be public …
Mike’s heart swelled with pride!

NORVAL JOE

I’ve always wondered what the difference is between rabbits and hares.
For bugs bunny the only difference would be what would make a more interesting or punnier title.
The differences are greater than you would think.
Rabbits are born hairless, blind and dependent on their mothers. They live in colonies below ground, coming out at night to eat.
Hares are born above ground, have fur, their eyes are open and they can eat solid food an hour after birth. They live independently and only come together to mate.
A simple differentiation would be, there are private rabbits and public hares.

CHRIS

Dressing the Part

By Chris Munroe

My bowler hat, steam-punk goggles perched atop it, tilts rakishly across my brow, and my umbrella, handle twisted into a question mark, hangs jauntily from my arm in case of rain.

Black suit, black shirt, red bow tie around my throat, matching suspenders and I look sharp, if I do say so myself.

I almost nixed the monocle, but fuck it, I deserve the best.

And anyway, it matches my pocket watch.

I’m ready to take on that world.

Some might be uncomfortable going out attired thusly.

But not me…

…I’ve never had any problems with public displays of affectation.

CHELSEA

Public

The things that you can and can not do in public these days is crazy.

Things like breast feeding or disciplining your children is taboo but you can practically dry hump your significant other on the dance floor of a club and nobody says anything.

It is still illegal, not just frowned upon but actually illegal for a woman to walk around naked from the waist up but men have been doing it for decades and nobody looks twice.

Is it just me or is the base line skewed horribly to one side and if so how do we correct?

TURA

Public
——–
When the King arises in the morning, he wears his private face. The servants attend to his needs, then at breakfast, he meets the most favoured petitioners to discuss private matters.

He puts on his public face to meet his ministers, and proceeds to the business of the day, only removing it for the occasional moment of private conference. At the end of the day, he takes off his public face and spends all too brief a time with his family.

On retiring for the night, he takes off his private face, and what lies beneath, none have ever seen.

PLANET Z

There’s a full moon tonight.
We’ll hear the howling soon.
And then, we’ll see the werewolves.
Usually, they stick to the trees in the park, raking and bagging leaves. Picking up trash. Smoothing the jogging paths. Or, if there’s any branches near power lines, they’ll drive out cherry-pickers to prune them back.
Aerating and seeding the grass is another thing they do. It really makes a difference.
Okay, so they’ll eat a few chickens or rip a few junkies’ and hookers’ throats out, but just look at our city’s greenspaces! Screw ’em!
If only the full moon came more often!

The Actor

A famous actor died last night.
I said famous, not good. He really wasn’t that good, but nobody’s saying that.
Out of respect for the dead, they say.
Because the dead deserve more respect that the truth.
Okay, I will admit that it’s a tragedy, because he left some big shoes to fill.
Oh, they’ll get filled. Certainly by a better actor. It won’t be hard at all, really.
A better actor will move up the ladder, on and on, until some Hollywood waiter gets an opportunity to follow his dream.
There’s the tragedy: service here is slow enough already.

The Orphan

My father died two years before I was born. And my mother died soon after.
So, how was I born?
My mother’s sister got everything in the house, the cars, and the embryos in the fertility center’s cryogenic vault.
At first, she wanted to get rid of the embryos. But she had a dream in which her sister told her to carry one to term.
And that’s how I was born an orphan.
I turned out alright, but I don’t recommend it.
Still, I’d like to see my brothers and sisters.
I’ll pay you fifty thousand for each one.
Deal?

Pool Shark

My grandfather was a pool shark, and he tried to teach me and my brother how to play pool.
My brother listened, but he didn’t have the talent.
I had the talent, but I was too young to listen.
Only after he died did I listen, his voice in my ear, telling me to think through each shot and breathe.
I got good. Really good.
Tournament-winning good.
Then, I broke my elbow.
It just doesn’t extend correctly anymore.
My wrist and fingers won’t bridge properly either
I’ll send my cue to my niece. Hopefully, she’ll hear his voice whispering “Breathe.”

Size Matters

Every so often, I hold out my arms, turn them over, and compare them.
It’s been over six weeks since the surgery, but I haven’t yet regrown all the hair back on my left arm. There’s patches of stubble all over it, unlike the pelt on the right one.
Also, the left one has atrophied significantly, allowing the pins and plate to poke against the tight skin.
I bang my left elbow against a countertop.
Nothing. No more funnybone, anymore.
A canned laugh track, perhaps?
Then, I bang the right elbow and CRAP! THAT HURTS!
But it feels so natural.

ACHOO

ACHOO!
Thanks for thehandkerchief, man.
ACHOO!
Yeah, I’ve got allergies. Really bad allergies.
ACHOO!
No, it’s not seasonal. It’s year-round.
ACHOO!
Usually, I have Kleenex handy, but I totally forgot it.
ACHOO!
I must have left my packet in my other coat.
ACHOO!
What am I allergic to?
ACHOO!
You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.
ACHOO!
Okay, you asked.
ACHOO!
I’m allergic to bullshit.
ACHOO!
Seriously, I’m allergic to bullshit.
ACHOO!
Worst thing about it is that it’s EVERYWHERE!
ACHOO!
Can’t get away from it.
ACHOO!
Oh, you don’t mind if I keep this handkerchief?
ACHOO!
Uh-huh. Right.

Bad Spelling

Most school kids participate in spelling bees.
My school? It had a spelling hornet. It was much nastier than a spelling bee.
But the private school in the area was even worse. They had a spelling wasp. Some kids ended up in the hospital after that.
All throughout the county, kids had angry red welts on their skin. Allergy medication was scarce, and the schoolyard drug dealers pushed epipens instead of ex or weed.
The state board of education intervened, and standardized all schools on spelling spiders.
Why spiders? Well, why bees? Charlotte was a spider, not a bee, right?

The Case of the Amber Rose of the Amazon – Part 37

Before his very eyes his grandmother both aged and shrank. Of all the places she could direct her eyes a single space turned them back with a blinding radiance of flaming truth. In less then a whisper she sighed,” I really can explain.”

At that moment Holmes gently broke in, “stay this shrift, we bare ill news. Both Mrs. Kane and Mrs. Brown are dead. Little joy is this except that they had plotted to do the same to your grandson and my comrade Dr Watson.

Watson suddenly realized after all these years Holmes could not envision his own death.

Weekly Challenge #428 – Sausage

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

The topic this week was SAUSAGE.

We’ve got stories by:

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of PUBLIC.

Smirky, crossed-eyed toilet rat

JOHN

Sausage
by John Musico

Mince organs, bathe them in blood, saturate with salt and stuff into a length of intestines, and viola: sausage.
Carnivores must have been eager to create this monstrous medley as it dates back to ancient Greek and Roman history. Virtually every country has their version of this little beasty. The word came from the French which came from the Latin word for salt.
It’s mankind’s self-destruct tool.
If the cholesterol doesn’t totally occlude your arteries resulting in a coronary; the salt will skyrocket your blood pressure and stroke you out. Likely your final words will be; “It was the sausage”.

JEFFREY

Fine Grind
by Jeffrey Fischer

“Do you want to see how the sausage is made?” Yvonne said to Corey, her summer intern. Corey nodded enthusiastically: she was pursuing a career in politics and wanted nothing more than to see how an independent agency worked.

“Take a look at the people around the table. That woman is lining up her lobbying job so she can cash in on her government expertise. The guy over there is checking his Blackberry for baseball scores. Those two guys whispering are deciding which interns to hit on, and the guy at the end of the table is literally an imbecile.”

Corey saw the man drool on a writing pad. “It’s good to see the agency hire the mentally challenged to make them feel useful.”

“Actually, he’s the guy who makes decisions.”

How It’s Made
by Jeffrey Fischer

Frank grasped the hors d’oeuvres in one meaty hand and examined it from all angles. The pastry firmly surrounded the cocktail sausage, save for the tiny, puckered ends that stuck out.

“What’s so fascinating?” asked Larry.

“The humble Pig in a Blanket. It’s the perfect party food: tasty, compact, with a way to hold it so as to not make your hands greasy.”

Larry shrugged. “Okay, so what?”

“Have you ever wondered how they poke that little sausage into the pastry without the whole thing crumbling?”

“Just eat it, Frank.”

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 61: Rhinoceros

George had little time to consider how wrong he’d been concerning his new stablemate. By the time he’d recovered his senses, the snuffling had turned to an angry snort and the rhinoceros had advanced from the shadows sufficiently for George to be quite sure he wasn’t simply dealing with an alarmed rabbit!

Having never researched how one should deal with an enraged rhino, he did the next best thing – he screamed at the top of his voice.

The rhino charged.

George knew when it was done with him, he’d be mincemeat… or, more likely, sausage meat… probably a fine pate!

#2 – Rite of Passage

It’s pretty much a modern rite of passage, now the days of wrestling lions, hunting wild beasts and taking extended expeditions into the wilderness are no longer established practice for graduating from boyhood to being a man.

Instead, we have the modern-day equivalent.

A young man, stood before a smoking pyre – clad in the holy vestment of plastic apron, (humorously decorated with a print of a curvaceous woman in frilly underwear), wielding his weapon of choice.

Upon which is borne the sign of manhood…

A solitary sausage, barbecued beyond recognition; pink, cold and riddled with salmonella in the middle.

#3 – Day Out

It was the sausages’ day out – Mr Frankfurter carefully counted the chipolatas in his care as they left the bus and watched their stubby little bodies as they played in the sunshine.

“Careful kids!”, he shouted as they ran about, “Stay out of the sun!”

One of the cheekier sausages answered him back, with a smirk on his sausagey face: “I’d rather be hot, than a chilli dog, any day!”

Frankfurter smiled and called his charges back – “OK kids”, he said with a twinkle in his eye, “It’s time to go to the zoo! Who wants to feed the animals?”

#4 – Just when you thought it was safe…

It was a dark and stormy night – the wind rattled the windows with a sound like dead men’s bones; the rain lashed against the pane, running like dilute blood, staining the glass where it touched.

The writer, hunched over his keyboard, shivered, tapping out the words he never wished to see again, the keys clicking, ticking out the seconds to the moment he knew must inevitably come.

Almost with a mind of their own, he watched his fingers type the dreaded and fatal words…

Too late.

He read the words he had written in horror:

‘The wiener dogs had returned!

TURA

When I was a lad, when we slaughtered livestock, after the skinning and butchering we’d boil the remains and stuff them into the animal’s own intestines. Then they’d hang in the hayloft, so we’d always have meat through the winter, and there’s many as didn’t.

Sometimes the scraps wouldn’t fill the intestines, so we’d mix in some oatmeal. One year, the crops and livestock were all poor, so when one of the old folks was sick and wasn’t going to make it, there was only one thing to do.

That’s why you shouldn’t watch sausages being made. Or the law.

LIZZIE

The Neuroscience teacher was considered quite the genius. However, he lacked the most basic speaking skills.

“This sausage-shaped thing is called myelin,” said the teacher pointing at a diagram of a neuron. “When it’s gone… bzzzt.”

One day, as he prepared to start the class, someone screamed BZZZZZZZZZZZZT from the back row. All students erupted in hysterical laughter.

The teacher slowly walked towards his desk, pulled a button-shaped thing from inside a drawer and hovered a finger over it.

From that day onwards, before sitting down, the whole class would anxiously examine their chairs while the Neuroscience teacher snickered, waiting.

SERENDIPITY

Sausage… what a topic!

And there’s you thinking it’s the perfect excuse for me to conjure a tale of slicing and dicing, cutting and chopping: the exquisite horror of human forcemeat, squeezed slowly into skins torn from their own entrails.

Perhaps you thought I’d evoke the sickening fear of biting into a hotdog, only to choke on your own severed finger, artfully seasoned with sauce and mustard?

Or maybe you thought I’d tell of the sausage factory… the place where we all go when we die – recycling in its most nauseous form.

And, of course, your thinking is absolutely right!

MUNSI

Are you coming to Sausage Fest?

It’s going to be terrific, I go every year. Chefs from Germany, Austria and Belgium are flying in, plying their wares, offering samples and discussing sausage-making techniques, it’s fun for the whole family.

Also: My favorite Journey cover band, the Any Way You Want Its, will be playing. They do Journey songs in the style of your choosing, it’s a hell of a show.

Any way you slice it, this will be one huge sausage party. So come one come all, to Sausage Fest!

I just hope there are more girls there this year…

JULIE

The Falling Man

A private moment,

Falling, a thousand feet–

His last breath.

Taking in clean air,

Finally free from the acrid smoke.

Grace, stillness–

Perfect quiet,

Burn alive, or go quickly.

You were executed,

And made the choice

For your death.

A remarkable act of censorship,

No one wanted to speak of the falling man—

I pick at this scab,

Open this wound—

Oh falling man,

Searching for air–

Soul damned by suicide.

“I’m not going to jump–

I’m going to come home to you.”

Oh falling man–

We will not airbrush you from this day.

Not you,

Nor the 200 others.

DIONYSIUS

How Sausage Grew

At first, Sausage was a simpleton.

Spirit told him in a dream: You are too simple! Do you enjoy being so dull and tasteless?

No, said Sausage, drooping visibly in his dream, and Spirit told him to go forth and plump himself up with wisdom.

From that day Sausage went to all corners of the world so that he might be plump.

Wherever Sausage went, people stuffed him with everything that might come into their heads, salted him with their tears, and, because he was open and indiscriminate, recommended him to their friends.

That is how Sausage grew tasty.

Hegel’s Lecture on Sausage (1827)

In the diversity of nature we find sausage merely in the abstract, sausage in itself. In this mere existence, the Concept appears to rest in its diversity, the Concept has not come systematically to itself in and for sausage.

The negation of this negation, in which a casing is nothing but an intestine, liver rests as a particular individual’s organ, becomes, as negation, the passing over into [ceasing-to-be of] the coming-to-be of Spirit.

This coming-to-be as Spirit, is therefore also a casing-to-be, the Concept sausage comes into its infinite truth, as a concrete universal sausage — which we eat!

Sausage aufgehoben — Now it is time for lunch!

The 2014 100-Word Symposium on the Reconstructed 1827 Lecture on Sausage

Attributed to Hegel

Metzger’s discovery of Hegel’s lecture notes on “sausage” is a big deal. The organizers are grateful. Listen.

Me first! Hegel’s sausage-based ontology —

Thought thinks a thought of sausage but the sausage-thought is a second thought that thinks sausage as thought.

Time is a sausage not that we eat, but that eats us. The eating becomes for us a recollection.

Unconscious sausage is German nationalism!

Wrong! Wrong! Wrong! Inferential links among sausages —

HEGEL’S IDEALISM INCORPORATES SAUSAGE AS A MASTER CODE!

I say Sausage is the Big Other.

Begriff ist Gott! Spirit ist Gott! Sausage isst Gott!

Onto-theo-epistemo-semiological-false-inferential-post-structural-unconscious-metaphysical-teleological-idealism!

Hahaha! Wonderful. Thanks. All about sausage. Lunchtime!

Kooken Came to Town

The only thing Kooken remembered from his first trip to town was Lola. She was walking, strutting indiscriminately to attract more discriminating men.

Until then, Kooken had focused exclusively on raising pigs and chickens with his father and six brothers. His experience with women consisted of the excellent sausage made by his equally simple mother.

His none-too-subtle middle brother told him that he could win a woman like Lola only with a gift of sausage.

Lola laughed at his simple gift, of course. But the sausage was indeed excellent, and few knew that she kept the anonymous giver in her heart as long as she lived.

Three-Little-Pig-Agains Wake

haggis around smoking a summer Sundae.

Mama: wurst brats! No do chorizo! Pigs, fly out mein ‘ouse!

Merguez! dit Frank en fort, Slim Jim de tofu, Sage Paddy.

A wolf was casing the Phrik! says he, Three fine pigs in blanket! Yam naem! Cumin choucru garni?

Boudin? sagt Frank. Note harbin chin! Y torun torunska homama.

Banger banger. Saltus, blood? Plastic?

Plastic? says Paddy gravy. Note harbin chin! Y torun torunska homama.

Thin knack knack.

Baloney! says Slim. Note harbin chin! Did ye bock me mortadella, tube snake?

Salamit’s been good to know ya: Meetvursti!

Sucuk! Smoked, weenie!

Doi! Red hot dog pudding. Wolf!

Y Slim Jim grinnded homama, where

CHELSEA

In high school I had a super cheesy science teacher. He taught us about chemical bonding by describing elements as dating couples. He explained the downsides of over eating by telling us that we should leave the extra hot dog in the fridge till we could have a conversation with it because that would be healthier.

Now, well into my thirties, every-time I see a hot dog the same thing goes through my head, “Hello, Mr. Sausage. I’m glad I didn’t eat you. Now you can be my best friend”, then I eat the hot dog. Is that wrong.

TOM

A Well Defined Relationship Part 57

It has been said the making of laws is like the making of sausages—the
less you know about the process the more you respect the result. Same can
surely be said for the act not the art of war fair. Dino Mod emptied both
his pistols into the backs of the 12 bandits, then hit the ground just as
Timmy and the Doctor where within spitting distance of El Cid. From the
hard left Smith and Banister charged into the cloud of dust. The plan was
working, right up to the clack of lighting, and the sudden down pour.

sausage

I grew up in the most sausage intense city on the planet. In Chicago there
are entire shops dedicated to ground stuffed tubes of meat. And we’re not
just talking German here, there’s this Puerto Rican bat sausage that will
burn the hair off your chest. A Basque pork that smells in the mouth, for
a mere $50 a pound, when you can get it. Of course there is the other end
of spectrum, Oscar Mayer, the worst, bratwurst, liverwurst, and weißwurst.
And the of wiener death don’t get me started. As a kid live on Hebrew
National hot dogs.

SPATE

Hash – Part 17

They strapped him onto the stainless steel table; inserted two IV’s and
started the drip.

Davidson smiled, closed his eyes and quietly died.

Warden sighed.

The cons stood at the front of their cells silent. and naked.

Tiffany fought tears. She had won the bet but lost the closest thing to a
friend she ever had.

She fit him into the cadaver pouch, pausing to position his hands to show
two middle fingers before zipping the plastic shut.

“Fuck you world!”

Maybe Davidson’s life was a hash but now stuffed into that body bag he more
closely resembled a sausage.

NORVAL JOE

Old and grey
as the winter’s day, and cold
like death’s embrace.
I gather ’round
the dandy lion down of
youth’s memories lost,
blown on summer’s breeze and
buried in the hoary frost.
In the steel grey sky
The geese now fly, headed south.
To warmer climbs much more sublime than suited to my aged bones.
And sausage dogs,
The sausage dogs that pitch and role
and dig in holes in search of rats,
They lift my soul.
My heavy soul
Which in me quakes and
And whines at all my weary aches
Takes cheer at last with sausage dogs.

PLANET Z

All these mothers and kids, coming across the border.
Dying in the desert. Kept as slaves by coyotes.
The lucky ones throw themselves on the mercy of the border patrol.
Food. Diapers. Beds. Medicine.
All in short supply.
Politicians, activists. Nobody doing a damn thing.
So, we offered a solution.
We set up rescue stations along the border. Took ’em all in.
A place to stay. Plenty to eat. Get them back to healthy.
And then, down to the processing plant.
Harvest the organs, grind the rest up into sausage or fertilizer.
Corn. Potatoes. Wheat.
Food for the next batch.