Sausages! Could there be anything more perfect, more pinkly pleasing than a fresh sausage, waiting to be sizzled? Rationally, the mind says no: but sausages appeal to the passions, to the heart, and to the soul. If sausages were designed for the intellect, they would be rectangular, their colour would be grey, and they would taste like cardboard. Away with such nonsense! For, as we all know, sausages are long, and ovular, and pink, or brown and juicy when fried.
Besides, many great people have uttered words in praise of the sausage. Otto von Bismarck, for instance, said that there are two things a man should never see: the making of laws, and the making of sausages. However, he was clearly a madman. There are numerous other tributes to the sublimity of the sausage throughout history, but I cannot remember them at the moment, as I do not know what they are.
Tonight was a sausage night. I sallied forth, with two of my brothers and two of my parents*, with sausages on my mind. I did not, at the time, know that I had sausages on my mind. They were sitting there, waiting to be drawn out by circumstance. That circumstance happened to be a friendly sausage vendor sitting by the bar by the river in the city, vending his, well, sausages. And so it came to pass that we bought the sausages from this sausage vendor, and we ate the sausages that were so vended.
I should note in passing the vegetarian objection to sausage eating. The objection goes, I believe, that it is wrong to eat sausages. This is fine, so far as it goes. The reasoning goes that, sometimes, instead of eating sausages, people should let the sausages eat them. This, too, is fine, but how do we know that eating vegetables is any better? For all we know, the carrots that vegetarians eat - I presume they all eat carrots, it's the closest thing to sausages you can get - could be entirely made out of meat. I mean, have you ever asked the waiter if the carrot you are served is vegetarian? Even if they have told you that it is so, how can you trust them? They could just be in the pay of the meat industry.
Therefore, a person eats sausages; for, as is well known, there is a sausage-shaped hole in man's stomach that only sausages, or some other ovular, possibly carrot-flavoured and textured, foodstuff that is nevertheless somewhat less satisfying than a sausage-based ovular foodstuff, can fill.
I sallied forth tonight with two sausages on my mind. One ended up, sizzling, in a loaf of bread, with onions, in my hand, and I ate it. The other sausage sat, long and pink, in my mind until I came back home. It was this blog post. And now, you have a pink sausage sitting in your mind too. Now perhaps you should go forth and cook it.
*Just to make things symmetrical. Otherwise I would have invited three of my parents out.
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