Sausage Youth
The sausages of our youth reflect out gaping lack of humanity.
We were young.
We were reckless.
The sausages we ate injected saturated fat and cholesterol into our philistinic hearts.
We kill ourselves by lacking to care.
"But sausages are good. We'll live forever," you said long ago.
Now you're dead.
Death by sausage? Not quite.
It was a McNasty car accident that did you in.
If adjectives had ethnicities, 'nasty' would be Irish.
The car accident was (No No No) nasty, but Irish at the same time. Consolidation. McDonald. Nasty. Hence, McNasty.
"Not Donald Nasty!" the midwife shrieked seeing the car accident in the distance.
"SHA-RIEK!" a passerby said laughing to himself.
He had not thought of Applied Chaos and "The Butterfly Effect." What you do does indeed fuck the future.
A man calls the police. Says, "I think someone's in trouble."
"Okay, calm down, sir. What happened?"
"I heard a man outside shriek."
Congratulations, midwife.
You wasted taxpayers' dollars. What are you? British or a just a bitch? It can't be both. No way, José. One way or no way. No how.
***
The cause of our "sausage youth1" comes from our hatred for everyone else. It also comes from our undying love for everyone else (while we hate ourselves, obviously).
We cannot end like this.
We must move on.
"And we must become vegan."
"Shut the fuck up," an attractive woman said.
Somewhere behind a one way mirror an FBI agent watched the scene unfold. She was suspected of weapons smugglings but could never be convicted. Sorry to ruin it for you.
No, it's okay.
Good because I'm not sorry.
God damn it, Fred. Shut up.
Fred nailed the accelerator and rear-ended the car of Donald McNasty.
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1 The words of Dr. Gerald Accordion carved into a toilet stall.