The Life and Times of Harry the Sausage

One fine summers day, inside Pete Johnson's butcher case at the local market, a freshly-ground sausage was somehow miraculously brought to life.  It spent the entire afternoon following its inception as a rational being curiously watching the customers through the glass meat case.  They came and they went, greedily eyeing Harry (as the ground-pork in an intestinal-tube had taken to calling itself) and his fellow cuts of meat.  Harry also watched Pete, who would from time to time slide open the metal door in the rear of the case and remove perhaps a fine cut of steak, or a succulent lambchop, or even a sausage link much like Harry.

Harry watched this ritual take place again and again.  Each time, the customer would point out a cut of meat, and Pete would remove it from the case.  Then Harry couldn't see what happened.  Finally, Pete's hand would give the customer something wrapped in white paper (which Harry presumed was the cut of meat), and then the customer would go away.  What was the meaning of it all?

Eventually evening cast its shadow over the land of Harry the living, breathing, thinking sausage.  Pete Johnson closed the shop and inspected his case.

"Did pretty well today, Elsie," he told his dog Spot. "Nothin' left but a couple chops and this old sausage.  Here you go, girl!"

Spot quit licking his balls and accepted his half-senile master's generous offering.  He drug Harry off to the corner where he could greedily devour him.

Harry felt himself being penetrated.  As the dog's sharp teeth tore into the meat that was Harry's mind, Harry hurriedly considered the very meaning of his existence.

I was the world’s first self-conscious sausage, he thought.  Am I to be the last?  Or will others follow?  Alas, now I shall never learn what happens to the lucky boys in the white wrappers!

And with this final thought, Harry was reduced to a high-fat, raw-pork snack for a dog named Elsie.

Spot.

Whatever.
 

The End 

 

(The Harry the Sausage Theme Song) 

It happened one fine summer's day
Inside Pete Johnson's butcher case
A lowly sausage was somehow brought miraculously to life
It called itself Harry
And his life was very scary
And though Harry died very young,
He was a wise sausage indeed 

Harry was a sausage
A living, breathing sausage
A quintessentially self-conscious, rational entity
Harry was a sausage
A thinkin’, stinkin’, sausage
And the things that Harry had to say
Could mean a lot to you and me

 

© 1998-2018 Bryan Patrick Deno

 

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