Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Ask a Sausage Link...

While Link finishes his electo-shock therapy over the trauma of the last few months, we thought, just for shits and giggles, we'd run an all new "Ask a Sausage Link..." that's been festering on the back burner for some time:

Dear Mr. Sausage Link,

First off, I'm a long time fan of the sausage. In fact, if I may toot my own intestine wrapped horn, I was crowned Ms. Kielbasa Queen '36 in the salad days of my youth. Well, the blossom of that young Kielbasa may have shriveled and putrified, along with the majority of my essential body parts, but I still crave the sausage in a big way.

Enclosed is a photo of me in full pork mode:

But I digress: Is it bad form for a lady of my maturity and vaginal dryness to ask a young man to see his sausage? I'm usually rebuffed with giggles and gagging, but all I desire is to feast my eyes on the fresh cylindrical beauty of young ground pork/beef/venison that he may be consuming or carrying at the moment.

Sally McDickleson
Perth Amboy, New Jersey

Dear Sally,

Hot damn!!! YOU ARE A SAUCY SAUCY SALLY AREN'T YOU? Why can't I ever meet a spicy older broad with a taste for the sausage like you? All I seem to meet are hungry eyes and salivating mouths... I'm more than a wiener Goddamit! I'm a man! No wait... I am just a wiener. But a wiener with feelings, Sally. I know you understand. Can I come live with you? Be you're special salsiccia? If you're open-minded, I know a beefy Macedonian lukanec that would be open to a Ménage à trois!


Dear Mr. Sausage,

I have what I believe is the world's biggest sausage, but I need an expert's opinion. May I show you my sausage? It measures 50 feet long and has a thickness of 1 foot. Is there some sort of award, or ribbon, or maybe a parade that I could receive for such a feat of pork packing?

Ronald Berkowitz
Long Island, New York

(Picture enclosed)

Dear Ronald,

While certainly an impressive log of meat, it is laughably small and pathetic when compared to the what is the actual KING OF ALL THINGS SAUSAGE...


An amazing feat of pork-based architecture. I believe it only lasted one day until a group of whacked out hippies, high on dope, stumbled upon it, ate the supporting pork, causing a collapse which wiped out a nearby orphanage. God Damn HIPPIES!!!!!

So, no Ronald. No GOD DAMN PARADE!


Have any sausage-related questions? Well, then send them to:

Sal Salsiccia

1232 Broadway
NY, NY 10020

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

The Lost Link

Dear Pupils,

Excuse my tardiness, for I have been most certainly delinquent in my Dapper™ blogifications. But to be frank... I 'm beginning to ponder what I find more deeply disquieting...

The fact that I have been missing for several long weeks, or the fact that NOBODY SEEMED TO NOTICE!!!!

I thought someone might inquire, or at least send a search party out to ascertain my whereabouts, but apparently Link Worthington III, Esq. isn't quite worth the effort. Well, I had the stratagem to just simply pretend to have been amiss in my professorial duties, due to fabulousity and drink, or dazzle you with tales of extreme sexually-charged international chicanery, but the truth is far more horrifying.

But that's for another day. As soon as the nightmares soften, the sores heal, and my sphincter stops quivering, then and only then, will I entertain the thought of passing on the blood-curdling details of my disappearance.

Which brings me to the subject of today's bloggery: SHOES. After weeks of sporting nothing but duct tape and Chinese take-out boxes, the first thing I did was to slip my precious little pitties into my coveted "Rodney of Burbank" loafers. Renowned for his use of only the most endangered animal skins, his footwear excel in both sheer audacity and soft pillowy comfort.

Mr. Rodney personally invites his most valued patrons along to hand pick the "raw materials" with which he'll weave his huarache magic, so off to the Hydrofoil! My last excursion was to the frozen tundra of Greenland, to find just the perfectly portly Phoca groenlandica pup pelt. Decisions, decisions! So many porky pelts to peruse. And times a tickin': We've only a few days to "harvest" the best snowy white furs before they molt! I just need to find the right little fellas and give them a hearty whack upside the noggin. I brought my own club along for this endeavor: A 3-foot long picana negra wood stocked, platinum tipped facilitator of fabulously fine feathery footwear.

But as I gaze hypnotically into those deep, moist, jet-black peepers, I can't seem to muster the inner blood-thirsty killer that I know lurks inside me. I have not a touch of chagrin with butchering my unruly manservants, but I find myself unable to... strike... the fuzzy... little... puff...

WHACK!!! As luck would have it, Mr. Rodney instantly notices my trepidation, and gentleman that he is, promptly pummels the fuzzy imp to death. Heavenly loafers, here I come!

And oh how that buttery soft baby seal fur soothes my horrible carbuncles, corns, and calluses. Cheers to you, Rodney!

Now if only we can rid ourselves of those pesky PETA agitators forever blocking patronage to your fine establishment. Today it's the seal slip-ons, tomorrow... who knows? Will they be ruffled by your Kitten Klogs™? Your Tibetan Sand Fox puppy pumps? And why pray tell is it only the homeliest of the group that must strip and paint faux blood all over their corpulent frames??? I've a right mind to protest their visual pollution! Well... as soon as my sphinter ceases to quiver that is.