Thursday, February 24, 2011

The Lion and the Snake

Picture by W. Ruocco

In 1993 my wife, then fiance and I moved from South Florida to Atlanta, we were still in our twenties and both worked for national companies. We lived in Atlanta for 6 years before moving back to Florida, the sun and surf much too alluring to ignore. The following incident is true, names have been changed for obvious reasons.

The company I worked for had hired foreign students from Africa and parts of the Middle East as part of a work experience program, there were about 10-12 mostly men ranging in age from 21 to 35 and most of them spoke enough English to get by, one of them made the hairs on the back of my neck stick up.
His name was Dekri, he was roughly my age although when spoken to he refused to offer any information about himself, only telling his name and where he was born. Dekri was cold, dark and creepy.
This was the first time I had any contact with Muslims and I had no preconceived notions of them, remember this is Atlanta, Georgia in 1993. Their manners and demeanor were pleasant and I quickly was welcomed with open arms into their small world. Their home away from home, one foreigner to another-bar one.

Being foreign In America is not easy, being foreign in the south is a pain in the ass at times and having the power to destruct verbal bullshit stops many a street fight. If I had a buck for every time some hillbilly told me "You talk funny" I could retire right now, having tough skin sometimes is not enough, sometimes blood boils slowly.

Dekri was obviously the leader of this small group, he was the behind the scenes organizer and taskmaster. He often berated some of them in Arabic and none of them ever talked back to him. Some of  the American workers had decided to go on a verbal rampage about foreigners, the same old tired lines of foreigners taking "Their" jobs and "How come and American did not get hired but this foreign student did" And let's not forget this classic "How come they get a break to pray five times a day?" Same old shit different day. The fact of the matter was the students were on extremely low wages and spent most of their time studying and yes praying as their culture demanded. Ever heard of live and let live?

One particular afternoon the tension between the domestics and the foreigners was so tense that knives would dull at the attempt to cut it. I was in the middle - American fiance, American schooling, and no desire to subdue anyone's culture. I always though that America was the world's melting pot and myself as just another ingredient, no better than anyone else. Dekri and an American named Will started arguing about foreign policy and this and that and how America is being ruined by foreigners. Will turned to me and said "Not you, you are a good foreigner." My response  "Hooray for me, can't wait to run home and tell my dad that I made the good foreigner team, you asshole"

This exchange was taking place on the loading docks, isolated from the public and management. The argument quickly exploded and I was in the middle now being accused by Dekri as a traitor to my country and how it was a mistake to be friends with Americans. Few words will draw me into battle but at age 25 -
traitor to my country was on the list.

Dekri's new mouthpiece was named Abet, he was fueled with Dekri's rage and hate and I was now his target. As a boy growing up in Scotland in the 70's fighting was expected almost mandatory and I had both taken and given my share of beatings. Most men know about fight or flight, judging ones opponent in a flash determines the outcome of hands being thrown and blood spilled. I gave Abet a final warning about the words he chose to qualify my existence and he spat in my face.

The tale of the tape said that I had him beat, I had 3 inches and 20 pounds on him. To me he looked like a broomstick wearing clothes, skinny little bastard was about to get the beating of his life.

He hurdled back almost comically after my first punch, but bounced back to face me again. My left hook to his jaw created a smack and a cry from Abet and he stayed on his feet just in time for another straight punch to the face. Blood spilled from his nose, his right eye blackened from my fists, Abet lunged at me and I threw him off,  he landed on a pile of wooden pallets in the corner. My blood boiled with rage, I jumped on top of him and with my knee pressed into his chest leaving him unable to move, I pounded his face over and over until I was pulled from his motionless body. Abet looked like a rag doll thrown about by a rabid dog, he cried like a child and was attended to by his fellows except Dekri. I was escorted from the building and sent home for the day.

Abet never returned to the job, no one knew what happened to him. I asked Dekri if he was alright and he said nothing. I look back at that moment in my life and what I see is Dekri standing on the docks manipulating Abet to fight me. Was this a test for Abet from Dekri? did Abet have to do this as an initiation to something bigger? I look back and only wish to apologise to Abet, he had no fight in him, I hope he survived Dekri's command and is safe where ever he is.

Since that day I have not laid my hands on another man,  I have not been challenged to the point of hands being thrown again, luckily the previous incident did not involve time behind bars. Lucky.
A few nights back I woke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, I had dreamt of Dekri and Abet and the beating. 18 years after the incident something still haunts me,  how Dekri the master manipulator provoked the American and drew in Scotsman who provided the beating. Out of all of them I was the one in the hot seat. I remember Dekri standing alone while I was being escorted out, his boney fingers running through his greasy thin beard, the smugness on his face as if his plan had come to fruition.

I thought of Dekri the entire night and into the next day, the image of his face angered me, violent thoughts took over my soul and I wished he was standing before me now. I decided to write this because all those years after the beating I felt remorse and sadness for Abet, he was a tool, the type of tool that may have ended up in some shithole holding and AK-47 because people like Dekri told him to.

To Dekri,
I doubt that our paths will ever cross and I know if our eyes were forced to meet you would remember me. I am the Scotsman who beat your countryman, but you are the one responsible for his pain. My fists pounded his face but your hatred damaged his soul. Abet was your puppet and you his puppet master. I hope he broke the stronghold you had on him as well as the others you commanded, you are a pathetic excuse for a man, you stood in the corner as your friend was thrashed; any man would assist his friend in that situation but you stood idly bye. Fair warning to you Dekri, fair warning that if we ever meet again it will be you and you alone that will take a well deserved beating. Keep your fucking head on a swivel.
The Scotsman from 1993.
Nemo Me Impune Lacessit - Wha Daur Meddle Wi' Me

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Give Me Back My Sausage

Girls are so forward these days.

Does this remind you of an anonymous American actress spoiled person.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Remove Your Pants And Bend Over, Please.

The room is cold and industrial and is fashioned with minimalistic design if any. I sit on the padded table and wonder if this steel cubicle could be used for interrogation or other clandestine purposes, is this the type of room where lives end if secrets are not spilled and spilled blood is the preferred outcome?
I hate waiting in such small places, I wonder if I am being watched, being judged on some minuscule fuzzy black and white soviet era monitor. Are there cameras in here? Shit I hope not.
The man enters the box and his salutary greetings are practiced and stale, I wonder how many times a day he does this, does he ever question the time was was faced with that fork in the road and chose this path? Only he knows and he 'aint telling.

His order is clear and precise "Remove your pants and bend over." Damn,
does this flesh covered robotic man realize the power in those words?
If these syllables were uttered in a bar while busy in the swirl of the drink, does robot-man know the consequences of his breath? I think not because if that was said to a man in a pub the outcome would be clear and simple and the Marquess of Queensberry rules would not apply.

Unfortunately on this day we are on his turf and this cold, steel cubicle is his domain. He is the doctor and I am his patient.
I am about to have my first prostate exam. Fuck.....

Bent over a table is not a good look for a grown man.

Bent over a table and hearing the steely snap of a latex glove is not much better.

Finally, bent over a table hearing the tube of lube being squeezed into said latex glove makes even
the most hardened scrapper run for his happy place.

On this crappy day I am the recipient of all of the above and off to my happy place I go.
Shite, it's closed for the winter dammit happy place you are supposed to
be open 24/7 and 365. I must face this in real time.

So here I am bent, lubed and entered, my manhood in peril of becoming questioned and all I can think of is "I wonder if this would be easier if the doctor was a woman, a good looking woman?" No, I think it would be just as bad because there is the other issue to deal with when your pants are down to your ankles and breasts are in the vicinity. Double embarrassing.

"Necessary" was my word of the day, as robo-doc reached for my tonsils taking the scenic route, I kept saying over and over:
necessary, necessary, necessary.....
And to think when robo-doc pulled out was finished with the test, his next auto simulated syntax was:
"There are towels over there, clean yourself up." 
What the hell robo-doc no dinner, no dancing or flowers? Are you humping and dumping you rat bastard! you deflowered me and all you can conjure up is:
"Clean yourself up." 
It gave me a new respect for the street walkers and other assorted sex workers, at least they carry their own lube, allegedly.

I now have a better understanding of how women feel while propped up and peeled wide in the gynecologist's chair, I get the fact that it's for medical reasons at least I had my back turned to robo-doc, I could not imagine him entering me from the front and having to look him dead in the eyes while trying to make small talk.
"Catch the game last night Doc?" 
Damn scary thought that is.

My father was diagnosed with prostate cancer and it is my duty as a son to get myself checked. As explained above the entire process from the cold room to the lifeless doctor was about as pleasant as a kick in the nuts right after you have been kicked in the nuts.
Anyway the good news is that my father crushed his cancer through radiation and is as healthy as a Scottish Clydesdale and good old Sausage is cancer free but now has a bit of a limp. Damn you robo-doc.

Sausage and his Dad, kicking cancer's ass.

Lets hear it then, whoever is the first to 
make the most obvious comment 
gets the prize, the last of the soon to be world famous
Sausage Fingers mouse pads.
I know you are a dirty bunch so come on what ya got.

The last one


Wednesday, February 9, 2011

And The Weiners Are.....

 The ballots are all counted, the tuxedos and evening gowns are ready for the show, the limos and the ladies are waxed and presentable. The awards banquet is tonight and all the blogstars will be in attendance.
The first annual evening of Sausage... not a gay porn but rather the awarding of the 5 Sausage Fingers mouse pads for the winners of the Every mouse needs a pad contest.

Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce your host for the evening - Mr. Ricky Gervais. (Sounds of audience clapping, some booing)
Hold on folks I have just been handed a note and it seems that Mr. Gervais has been deported.
Oh well I better do this myself, here goes.

The first award of the night is given to
Mrs. Tuna  For her answer of question # 5 what were my 20's all about
her answer was: I had electric shock therapy and can't remember.
where are the men in white coats when you need them?

The next  mouse pad goes to Pearl from Pearl, why you little...
for her answer of question #2 what team do I support
her answer was: Scotland United.
Swinging for the fences and a complete shot in the dark, she almost got it 100%
Not realizing that her answer is a combo of club and country, nice one Pearl.

The next award recipient is Mike Smith from Auld Reekie Rants
for his answer to question #2 what is my real name
his answer: Lorne.
How the bloody hell did you guess? Actually my name is not Lorne but it made me think of
Lorne Greene who was a damn fine Canadian, eh.

The fourth mouse pad award goes to Ryan at Scotland here and now
for his answer to question #1 where was I born
his answer: God's own country. aka Scotland - yeah for us our teams are shite but our weather is great :)
Even though the Sausage Fingers blog is a religion free zone, I must side with homeboy with Gods' country.
As Gran used to say during our visit to the highlands "Och its bra and bonny doon there"

The fifth and final mouse pad is awarded to Some Chilean Woman
for her answer to question #5 what were my twenties all about
her answer: sex and mullets !
How did she know that my emulation of Hannah Montana's pop was the reason for my sausage link to be cased (Safe sex reference) way back in the 90's? I wonder if her hubby "The Scotsman" had anything to do with Chilean getting the most answers correct?

So that's it folks, 2 cool Scots, 1 hot Chilean, 1 frozen Pearl and a lady tuna
are your winners for the First Annual Sausage Fingers Prize Giveaway.

The correct answers are:
1. Dundee

2. Brian (What, you were expecting Angus or William or Hamish?)

3. DUNDEE UNITED aka the Terrors of Tannadice ( I realise that by typing the word "Terror" I am now on some kind of watch list.) 

4. Chuck - The original NASA engineer, he worked on the space program and helped launch the original 7 astronauts. Chuck Hayes


Cheers, Sausage...

Friday, February 4, 2011

Every mouse needs a pad

Make your mouse happy give it some Sausage.


Who wants their mouse's balls tickled by the delicate fingers of Sausage?

That even creeped me out so I will rephrase that as:

Our company has an overstock of mouse pads that we use for giveaways for the photography business, they will be liquidated online next week. I have set 5 pieces aside to be given away to the readers of this blog.
What's the catch you wonder, simply answer the following 5 questions correctly and 1 Sausage Fingers mouse pad will be yours. Free of course and the postage paid by the offices of Sausage Fingers, Inc.

You might be saying to yourself "Who the hell wants that piece of crap?"
Well if you are anything like me you will be happy with something free, especially in this economy.

E-mail you answers to: 
I will announce the 5 winners next week.

The clues are all in the posts

1. Where was I born - start with an easy one.

2. What's my real name  - Dig deep all you social media freaks.

3. What football  team do I support (Soccer for the yanks) -  Refer to question #1.

4. What is my Father-in-law's name - Think of  "Houston we have a problem."

5. What were my 20's all about - Think about Ian Dury and the Blockheads

Good luck to all and happy hunting.
Cheers, Sausage....

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Lindsay Lohan needs a TV show about drinking, whoring and everything else that Charlie Sheen is good at

Hey baby take notes I think I have an idea for a show

Charlie Sheen the drunken man-child from the television series Two and a Half Men, has been hospitalized
after and ambulance was called to his home. Two women exited the home at the same time.
Sheen, who makes about $1.25 million per episode, let that sink in for a minute.
Yes that was $1.25 million per episode has a long history with alcohol and trouble.

The character he portrays on the show is a carbon copy of his life, he plays Charlie (I guess in case he forgets his real name while shitfaced) a rich, single playboy who's success seems to fall in his lap without any effort.
The  problem I now have with the show is that I like it, it's funny to see him cavorting with whores while his more educated and well rounded brother baffles his way through life. More champagne Charlie?

Do I now have to feel remorse for cheering this fool on? Are people like me and the countless number of other men who watch Charlie's escapades both on and off screen responsible for his pending incarceration?
The last time he was in trouble for something or another I remember watching the news and trying to separate the man from the character.
Unfortunately Charlie's latest character re-enactment was not illegal, melting money in Vegas with leggy chicas is not exactly against the law. But the "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas" does not apply.

Hey there's hope for you yet, don't you know they gave Eliot Spitzer a show.

"But your honor these were all for character development for my show"

1990: Sheen shoots then-fiancee Kelly Preston in the arm when she tried to end things. Rehab stint No. 1 for booze.

1995: Committed relationships are not his thing. Madame to the Stars Heidi Fleiss outs Charlie as a well-paying client (you can't say he doesn't pay his bills). Later that year, then married to model Donna Peele, Sheen was sued by a college student who claimed he hit her after she refused to have sex.

1997: Sheen pleads no contest to battery charges brought by another ex, model Brittany Ashland. His punishment: two years' probation and a $2,800 fine.

1998: Sheen enters rehab after over dosing (coke).He was turned in by his father Michael

2005: A pregnant Denise Richards files for divorce. I wonder what for?

Christmas 2009: Sheen is arrested on felony menacing charges after third wife, Palm Beach socialite Brooke Mueller, accuses him of trying to kill her. Rehab No. 3.

Oct. 26, 2010: Sheen has a meltdown in NYC's Plaza hotel. He was with local escort Capri Anderson and threw a major fit when he couldn't find his watch. His rep blames his tirade on ``allergies.''

Jan. 12, 2011: Sheen fails to show up on the Two and a Half Men set after a bender in Sin City, where a porn convention was held. His rep now blames ``an ear infection.''

Jan. 27: The latest and maybe the last. Good luck Charlie