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.”
I have days like that...
How are all the Chicklets today?
Everyone is doing okay today, so far. DP has an interview in Mooresville, up by Lake Norman, today, and I’m going to my prayer group right now!
Vlad painted you a picture yesterday; I’ll put it in the mail later.
Say hi to the Church Ladies for me!
I’m glad he is less than three inches long.
He already tried to eat my finger when we were setting stuff up in his domain, he’d already claimed dominion over the not quite perfect setup.
If he were big enough, I’d have an angry blue hat chewing on my head.
They are territorial to a certain extent, but you have to remember that you’re not “ordinary,” and the beta may recognize your true form. Just sayin’.
The witch shoe is the one that tries to turn you into a frog or wither your cows because you didn’t use Doc Sholls.
Yes, I’m fairly certain he recognizes my point of origin.
Hence why he displays at me so often even when I’m ‘out of range’.
Morning
Morning. How are you feeling?
Still have a broken heart.
*hug*
I’m sorry. I wish I could do something to help you.
Thank You!
:o]
I’m back. Now I have to clean up the mess the kids made while I was gone.
I’m so sorry about your loss, ColdOne.
;)
Isn’t that the way it always goes? Get off by yourself and know you’ll have a mess to face when you get home...*sheesh*
Prayers for DP.
Bill did SAT prep, I cleaned up. I even mopped the floors. I always feel terrible about my floors after being in someone else’s house!
I kicked Bill off and made him take Ash for a walk. She was moping.
Hey Thomas. Did you sleep well?
Darks, if you let him make beta babies, he won’t need to bite you.
Good night Face, TC, Sion and Bob.
Good Morning Cold one. How are you doing?
Hiya! Still upset.
Thomas was involved in an unfortunate lab experiment and now has extra mechanical appendages grafted on.
We’re currently trying to come up with uses for them.
Not many places could use a plasma cutter jar opener.
But I’m sure we could use it.
Some of teh jars we have. *Shudder*
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