Sausage Commercial

I just walked away from the television set, where a commercial for SomeHobbitTown sausage had created a quaint vision, that I was to enter on a silver strand of hickory smoke. Within it, I traveled to a well-appointed kitchen with a wall-sized chalkboard, where a master sausagesmith neatly prints 


on a black chalkboard in pristine white chalk, alongside a folksy drawing of the finished product, gleaming handsomely beside some tasty rice and healthy carrots upon some apron-clad, grandmother-cooked plate. In this kitchen, benevolent sausage recipe stewards impart a time-honored, lovingly curated mix of ingredients into kindly exterminated fleshbits in a large copper bowl, with a wooden spoon. 

I am meant to believe that, as I, in my own scullery, slide the simultaneously phallic/scatalogical meatstuff from its plastic sleeve, that some earnest culinary artist has delivered it into my lucky hands.

I am not meant to think of the fact that OGJ/MSG spicepowder was muddled into glops of mechanically separated gobbets, which were then sucked up into a conveying tube and later rocketed from a nozzle into an eternally extending condom of reasonably gutlike genetic material before being packaged and frozen.

Sometimes, I feel insulted.


"I'm gonna give you every inch of my love. I'm gonna give you my love." - Page/Plant et al


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