Monday, November 29, 2010

My Bachelor Weekend

Where the hell is the remote?

This past weekend I had a very rare thing happen - Mrs. Sausage and the boys went to visit family in another state, leaving me behind to catch up with gold old me. Ah the peace and quiet of an empty house, no soap operas spewing shite and no Spongebob annoying the normal out of me just me, the dog and the sofa.
The first few hours were brilliant, football was on so I decided to soak up the manliness from the tube.(Wait, that sounds weird) lets rephrase that as - I watched enough football to make my face melt like those crazy Germans from Indiana Jones and the something or other. End day 1.

The next day after walking the dog (Not a sausage) I decided to cook a nice meal, I turned on the television to see if there was a possibility of a secret football game I might have missed. That turned into me sitting on the sofa eating curry out of a pot with a wooden spoon, my shirt as the napkin and last nights stale pint to wash it down.
Next on the agenda - nap.
The rest of the weekend consisted of - more naps, making  sandwiches, finish another six pack, scratch stuff, order Chinese, watch more t.v., frantically search for batteries for the remote, check e-mail, walk the not sausage dog again, contemplate showering, changing clothes and combing hair, decide not to shower, change clothes or comb hair.
By Sunday afternoon I was bored out of my skull, I missed the hell out of the noise makers and the Mrs. I could not wait to talk to someone in person rather than scream at my fantasy players while stuffing my gob with some mystery meat from the back of the fridge. I was lonely.
I received the call that they were on their way and would be home in a couple of hours.
I showered, changed clothes and brushed my hair. I scraped the contents of the living room table into the trash and discarded the evidence. Later that night when asked by the Mrs. "So what did you do this weekend?"
I answered  - "Not much, I read a book or two, took the dog for a long run and cleaned the house"
The moral of the story - without women men are and will always be - CAVEMEN.
A huge thanks to all the mothers, wives and girlfriends out there that keep us men out of the cave
another weekend like that I would have to be cut  from the sofa and forklifted to the hospital.
Cheers ladies....

I am home alone therefore I wear no pants.

Thursday, November 18, 2010


Women - The alluring species that vexes man,  the creatures from Venus that stir our every emotion. Their sexuality, power and good cleanliness keep us coming back for more. When the prototype of a woman was made, it was designed with one major flaw, when the grand architect or matrix programmer or whatever you believe was finished with "Woman" He looked at the spare parts left on the table and there it was -  The temperature gauge. "Oops" he thought as he brushed the gauge into the trash can.

Women seem to have been given every proper piece of equipment compared to us men, we collectively have many flaws - The inability to focus on more than one or two things at a time, a strong need to scratch stuff and we all know the asking for directions thing, and on and on.
I say these things because my dear wife and pal Mrs. Sausage has no temperature gauge!! hers was swept in that proverbial waste basket by the grand architect or matrix programmer or whatever you believe. Today in the sunshine state the weather is best described as if the grand architect or matrix programmer or whatever you believe actually is on holiday right here right now.
As a young lad growing up on the pitches of Dundee playing football in shorts in January, then sweltering around the Florida fields in August, I have witnessed the extreme opposites of weather. To me it's no bother because I have a temperature gauge properly installed by the grand architect or matrix programmer or whatever you believe.
 Outside my door today is perfection - 76 degrees of warmth with a gentle breeze, the sun bathing our faces in all its glory. So far today Mrs. Sausage has been the following - freezing, warm and now hot. I tried to explain the grand architect, matrix programmer thing and the look I got was - icy with a chance of sleeping on the couch.

Found in the bin at the offices of the grand architect, matrix programmer or whatever you believe.

Mrs. Sausage Fingers aka Mama Hot Flash

Friday, November 12, 2010

Hey Mickey Mouse Duck and Cover

I hear a truck coming Pluto

Central Florida - What's the first thing that comes to mind when you hear that? Theme parks? Sunburned groups of tourists traipsing around in cheap t-shirts and sandals, clamoring to get a peek of a cartoon legend before the family heads out to one of many "All you can stuff in your fat face buffets?"

In Sanford Florida, there is a truck dealer that currently has a special promotion - BUY A NEW TRUCK AND GET A FREE AK-47.
Yes folks the famous AK-47, the bane of Rambo, the progenitor of the cold war and now the prize possession of Central Florida truck buyers. The right to bare bear arms aka - rednecks without sleeves
I know how bad the economy has been, I am a small business owner that has been forced to adhere to non traditional sales practices over the last few years. I have given away pizzas, coupons, offered sponsorships and given away a shitload of free product just to keep the business afloat.

I don't want to open an argument about the 2nd amendment to the U.S. constitution, but buy a truck and get a free freaking machine gun makes Central Florida look like the wild west, not the family fun destination spearheaded in the marketing campaign. Or maybe it's just me!!!

Speaking of tourists, can someone get a message over to London that wearing your Arsenal or Chelsea strip in the ass-kick of summer is not cool. Be a sport and buy a cheap t-shirt, help our economy. 
The kids would love one of these under the tree.

This is the dealer from Florida

This one is from Kansas

You bet you arse Sean Connery was the best James Bond

Being a child of the 70's and 80's I grew up watching iconic programs and films. Two of those being the James Bond series and Hawaii Five-O, both of which have been modernized for today's audience. These 2 shows have the most memorable themes, at least they are the two that stuck with me from my youth. During the long break of production between the original Hawaii Five-O and the new production, I have found myself battering out the theme song, and the same goes for the Bond theme. Does it mean I am getting old that the fireworks in my noggin are only lit from memories of the past? Who knows, enjoy the two clips....

I will gladly take votes on your favorite

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

When I was your age I had to make calls from a phone box and they smell of piss


I found a new parenting trick/lesson/torture for all of the parents of pre-teens who don't follow the family rules.
My ever so fickle 12 year old and his cell phone are joined at the hip ear, the only problem is that he forgets to charge the damn thing. The cell chargers are in our kitchen and his precious phone rarely leaves his room, thus forgetting to charge the talk box is a regular occurrence in our lives.
The straw that broke the camels back was last weekend when our Facebooking pre-teen yet again let his cell phone die. Enough is enough, I took the phone away for 1 week.
The mastery came when I decided to return his never ending list of texts, replying to friends in an old-fart dad way. When an interested girl asked if he was going to the fall carnival on Saturday,  I messaged back "This is Scot's dad, he might be able to after his chores are done"
The bairn is mortified, every night after dinner I give him the messages from his pals.

Lilly wants to know if you like her, I messaged back that I would find out for her.

Stephanie wants you to kiss her, I messaged her that I would have to check with your mother.

Austin wants to know what Sarah said about last Friday, I messaged him and asked for a play by play of last Friday.

 Don't mess with dad.........

This aint easy with sausage fingers

Religion versus Spirituality

Sausage, please don't leave us

It has taken me 26 years to rant about this and the time has come. I was once blacklisted from a christian high school for choosing another christian high school. Way back in the wild times of the 1980's, you know before we had the Internet and Facebook and other person to person social killing platforms, yours truly was a hot commodity on the football field. For those of you reading this is the U.S. I am referring to real football aka: the football that actually requires skilled use of feet, and does not stop for zebras to huddle for a decision. (by the way I love American football, just too many commercials).
The Sausage was just a wee link but had acquired an amass of football knowledge from his street coursing days growing up in Dundee. As with most Scottish boys of this era, football was life, period.
By the last semester of my sophomore year of high school, I was scoring goals with ease, the other kids were not used to European football and were easy targets.
I had been approached by another school to play for them the following summer, they happened to be the rival of the school I now attended and the remainder of the school year and summer started a turf over over wee Sausage.
My school was Florida Christian Academy, a private high school funded by a local baptist church. My parents enrolled me in this school as they thought it would be an easier break-in for me, having just moved to the U.S. and being a teenager, I could see what they were trying to do since the other local high school had a major crime problem.
Zion High School was a more progressive school, still funded by a church but not overly militant regarding the length of sideburns or the amount of thigh offered by the cheerleading uniforms. I wanted in, it was the school for me. We decided to move my brother and myself to Zion, the problem started when the principal of FCA refused to release my papers to the new school, citing some kind of issue with me. All was well when I was booting in goal after goal for them, the principal also happened to be the head coach of the soccer team, how convenient.
The local newspapers even got involved and the issue was settled during the summer, my first school actually sent a spy to watch our training at Zion and reported us to the Florida High School Sports Association for holding an illegal practice.
The whole point of this story is that the school/church of FCA held itself in such a virginal light that they did not even have the courage or decency to wish me luck, they battled me over football, yes football before the happiness of a family. I just wish that people who cloak themselves in religion understand that when they falter and they will falter, they must not act like every other man or woman. If you are a representative of God then act like God would want you to act at all times, not when it suits you or your church and its tax free budget. I understand that no man is perfect but this mans conduct as a minister, principal and soccer coach under the guise of Christianity was severely flawed.
How dare you hold me back, I was just a boy who was unhappy with your Puritan-esque rules and needed to move away but you pulled me back in spite.
Who says that spirituality has to be attained in a brick building with a cross mounted on front? Have you ever walked on a beach? have you ever seen the birth of a child? have you ever had compassion for someone or something that would not bring you fortune or gain? That is spirituality my friend. Karma............

Friday, November 5, 2010

Basil Fawlty Fights The Fonz

This is an old post from last year while I battle a head cold.
Whisky bottle here I come.

History has shown that two opposing views can be educational and entertaining, take for example-
the ALLIES v the AXIS, ALI v FRAZIER, GOD v SATAN, SCOTLAND v ENGLAND (Also know as good v evil) and lets not forget about KANYE WEST v EVERYONE WHO IS NOT KANYE WEST.
 A good old fight between 2 different camps can rouse the blood and emote the flames of passion.

The other day my wife noticed me watching and old BBC show from way back in 70's, she commented on the poor quality of the broadcast and lack of graphics in the program, my response was "That's the way our old TV shows were back in those days, at least our shows were better than the crap you grew up watching."

Ding Ding Ding -  In this corner we have the challenger from USA - Mrs. Sausage Fingers
and in this corner we have the champion from the UK - Mr. Sausage Fingers.

The fight - British TV shows from the 70's v American TV shows from the 70's.
 Let's get it on. Ding Ding Ding.

Right out her corner she hits me with The Walton's, I jab back with Dad's Army and throw a Steptoe and Son at her, she hits me in the face with Sanford and Son. The fight is even and I bolt out of the corner fresh with memories of Benny Hill and Black Adder, she is stunned and temporarily blinded but busts back with The Love Boat and Fantasy Island. I am caught of guard with these two and while I am starting to see stars she throws a flurry of blows with Happy Days, The Six Million Dollar Man and The Bionic Woman. I am down, the wind sucked out of me like an airplane door suddenly opened mid flight.

I make it to my feet ready to strike, she immediately throws jabs with The Brady Bunch, Mork and Mindy and Charlies Angels. Again I wobble, but charge back with classic bombs of The Two Ronnie's and Morecambe and Wise, then a left hook of Are You Being Served, my attack is working, she is slowly backing away. I decide to go for the knockout with pugilistic intent with Worzell Gummige and TISWAS, then spray her with Some Mothers Do 'Ave Em. Clearly she is going down, so to make sure of my victory I throw a hay maker of Last of the Summer Wine. She is down but not out, she steadies herself and makes me pay with a barrage of Three's Company, The Andy Griffith Show and Gilligan's Island. I counter with Dr. Who, she stops and asks "What is Dr. Who?" "What, I say, you don't know who Dr. Who is?" I drop my gloves and guard puzzled by her petulant comment, she notices my open stance and fires a six pack of body blows with M*A*S*H, The Rockford Files, Wonder Woman, CHIPS, The Dukes of Hazzard and the Incredible Hulk. I am standing on pride alone and throw out my last weapon, my knockout punch here goes nothing as I swing for the fences. Boom, how about Fawlty Towers, she painfully absorbs the blow and lobs her own cannon back, "Don't forget Dallas."  Ding Ding Ding, the fight is over, it's in the judges hands now.

The scorecard reads - We have a split decision and the winner is.......

PS. No spousal abuse occurred during this blog, only a spirited debate between two best pals.
Cheers, Sausage Fingers.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Whars Jimmy?

There once was a man named Jimmy Bastard, a blogger, a Glaswegian, a hoops lover. He was a reformed fighter who claimed that the "Pen is mightier than the sword, unless the pen was stuck in your back." His words were inspiring and somewhat devout as if sitting in a new age church with a minister that swung a big stick. He spoke of harshness and hard people, he spewed words like addict, cold, useless and misery.
His poetic words were of strength as if written with a clenched fist rather than an open hand. Upon finishing a Jimmy Bastard piece it felt like a punch in the face on a frigid Glasgow day - stinging warm yet still ice cold and painful.
Jimmy Bastard seemed to know life from its hardest knocks to its finest pleasures and now he is gone.
Off to rekindle his fire? sickened by the so called cult of followers? Sometimes I wonder what happened to Jimmy Bastard I wonder if someday he will pull that pen out of where ever he stuck it and ink some more legendary Glesgae street banter.
Who knows if he was even real, he may have been the dark part of someones imagination.

Eh dinna ken aboot whut haipened tae thi man.