Posted on 02/26/2011 1:38:34 PM PST by Squawk 8888
I’m not the wiener peeler, I’m the wiener peeler’s son, And I’m only peeling wieners, ‘Til the wiener peeler comes.
I apologize to pheasant pluckers’ sons everywhere for stealing their tongue-twister.
But who can resist when my Internet fairy, Irene, drops this job ad on my desk? “Get out your resume,” she purrs.
I pause in processing Moonlight Lady submissions, and take a boo.
“Full-time Wiener Peeler,” says the ad.
Wazzat? I ask. A red-hot stripper?
“No. As in weenie. It’s got you written all over it, ” says Irene, and she flutters off.
Well, I’m getting sick of grinding out daily columns like hamburger. So I read on.
“Opportunity. Excitement. Teamwork. Respect.
“At Maple Leaf Foods we are committed to attracting, rewarding and retaining talented people who are passionate about making a positive impact in their professional and personal lives every day.”
A noble mission. What better way to pursue it than as a bona fide full-time professional wiener peeler. The opening is at Maple Leafs’ hotdog plant in Hamilton.
Imagine the awe when you tell fellow partiers your occupation.
Picture the lineup of schools recruiting for career days.
The teachers may giggle, but the kids will scream for free samples.
You’re on Price Is Right and Drew Carey says, “What d’ya do for a living up in Canada, Mikey?”
I peel wieners, Drew.
“Good for you. Wiener peeler. Hmmm. reminds me, folks, get your pets spayed or neutered.”
Anyway, I check around and find yet another job opening at Maple Leaf. Wiener stuffer. Hit it ...
I’m not the wiener stuffer
I’m the wiener stuffer’s son
I’m only stuffing ...
(Ed. note: Stop that, you hotdogger, or we’ll make you pose for a picture like Gilles Duceppe in the silly hairnet.)
NO! Not that! I’ll do anything, boss.
The photo of Duceppe in a cheese factory was a body blow to the Bloc. He looked like a weenie. Un chien chaud. Un hotdog.
I wonder. How do wiener peelers and stuffers look? All dressed?
I call Linda Smith at Maple Leaf Foods and ask: What company wit came up with those job titles?
“They’re in the union contract,” she says. “They’re really a kind of food-processing operator.”
So machines do the actual stuffing and peeling. Thank God. I can’t imagine sitting there all day, fingers numb, going, “hundred thousand and one weenies, hundred thousand and two weenies, hundred thousand and ...”
The wiener stuffer fills the tubular collagen casings with hot dog sludge. Since you asked, the ooze typically comprises mechanically separated chicken, pork, beef, water, wheat gluten, salt, sodium phosphate, spice, dextrose, corn syrup solids, sodium erythorbate, garlic powder, onion powder, sodium nitrite and smoke.
If you need to ask what mechanically separated chicken is, don’t.
Or go eat a veggie burger.
Once the dogs have been divided and smoked and solidified, the wiener peeler removes the casings.
The stuffer and peeler look like hazmat officials or Apollo astronauts.
They wear blue rubber and plastic head to toe, with hairnet, hardhats and mask. Plus earmuffs. Yes. All those dogs barking.
The hirings, says Smith, are to gear up for summer, when 60% of wieners are sold.
What a great job, eh?
I assume you get to take home any bent, twisted or otherwise defective wieners.
And you’d be in the pantheon of careers with chicken sexer, pet food tester, bounty hunter, odor reader, fortune cookie writer, golf ball diver and newspaper hack.
Plus, you’re wrapped in a soft, warm union. The Brotherhood of Bun Fillers (BBF), or whatever it’s called.
I can picture the negotiations:
“We want a raise, a longer lunch, three weeks holiday, dental coverage and pension improvements.
“But hold the mustard.”
Nekkid scamering is part of the fun of being a little byo. They should do it now, as it’s frowned upon as they get older. Hence, Bill.
Awfercute!
Bettas don’t exhaust themselves. That’s why they have such fancy “plumage” and such brilliant colors. They can even puff out their gills and make themselves look menacing.
Good morning. I’m taking Sally to the doctor a little later: looks like she has strep again.
Oh, man. Poor Sally. That really sucks. Keep me posted.
I will. I’ll also put some unmotivated children to work on disinfecting the house!
Good idea!
Just as I was about to give up and head to dinner alone, a co-worker arrived. Crashed after dinner. Folks are beginning to arrive now, meeting starts at noon.
Good luck with your meetings. Warm day here in the Southeast.
There is something about the number 1040 I don’t like. Especially around this time of year.
Not strep, they say, just crud.
And what kind of crud is it that it doesn’t respond to treatment? Did they give her some industrial strength antibiotics?
That would be his Fish of Warding act.
As for mating him, I don’t know yet.
Tht would be up to sis.
I think I was just trying to make the point that he doesn’t have to be in the tank alone. Depending on the size of the tank, you could put something else in there. Just not another male beta.
Viral crud ... cold symptoms, sinus pain, post-nasal drip. I’ll go through our collection of over-the-counter meds and see what’s there. Mainly, she’s moping.
I took all the byos over to church to pick up some supplies for next week’s first grade. They were hoping something more interesting would happen. Then we put $80 of gas in the van ;-(.
It’s up to sis, his tank is a rounded front five gallon.
And he protects it from everything except sis.
Back from Walmart, my home away from home. I got some new clothes for Sally, which took a long time because we had to keep trying things on, and some food to take to my prayer group tomorrow. Half of them gave up sweets for Lent, so I’m taking fruit and vegetables and hummus and crackers.
DP had a phone interview today and has a real-life interview tomorrow and another real-life interview later in the week and then back to the company where he wore his Real Suit.
Todd and Sarah visit Bibi and Sara. I'm jealous (of the trip to Israel, when I only get to go to Walmart ... ;-).
I put $15 worth of gas on Deaf June’s car and it gave her 3.55 gallons. If I had my druthers, I’d druther not be held hostage by OPEC.
Tell Sally to suck it up. Life is not fair, and she is no exception. If I can suffer the stuff I have, since before I was her age, she needs to realize she ain’t perfect!
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