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.”
That's if you drive into D.C. from BWI, which *I* wouldn't do, but that "back way" from Dulles avoids the beltway.
One exception is India -- but the other meals are so tasty...
Ladies and Gentlemen give it up for "Dunderbeck's Machine"!
[Uproarious applause...]
There was a strange old butcher, His name was Dunderbeck.
He was very fond of sausage-meat, and sauerkraut and speck.
He had the finest butcher shop, the finest ever seen,
Until one day he invented his wonderful sausage machine...
Oh Dunderbeck, Oh Dunderbeck! How could you be so mean?
I told you you'd be sorry for inventing that machine.
For all the neighbor's dogs and cats will never more be seen;
They'll all be ground to sausage meat in Dunderbeck's machine!
One day a very little girl came walking in the store.
She ordered up some sausage meat and eggs, a half a score.
And while she stood a-waiting she whistled up a tune,
And the sausage meat it started up and danced around the room!
Oh, Dunderbeck, Oh, Dunderbeck! How could you be so mean?
I told you you'd be sorry for inventing that machine.
For all the neighbor's dogs and cats will never more be seen;
They'll all be ground to sausage meat in Dunderbeck's machine!
Once day when he was working the machine it would not go.
So Dunderbeck, he climbed inside to see what made it so.
His wife she had a night-mare and came walking in her sleep;
She gave the crank a heck of a yank, and Dunderbeck was meat!
[All together, now...!]
Oh, Dunderbeck, Oh, Dunderbeck! How could you be so mean?
I told you you'd be sorry for inventing that machine.
For all the neighbor's dogs and cats will never more be seen;
They'll all be ground to sausage meat in Dunderbeck's machine!*spew*
Hiya, Handsome! How are things with your sweet little family?
I’m just as fine and dandy as ever. The little girl woke me up before six, crying in her bed for “uppie”; then didn’t want to do anything but hang on my neck for a half hour or more, and I hadn’t the hard-nosed practicality to refuse.
Of course, I couldn’t lie back down with her and snuggle in my nice warm bed; oh no. “Uppie” constitutes a strict injunction against either involved party being prone or seated. The “carrier” must be in a standing position for the indulgence of “She Who Is to Be Carried”; and shall remain so until the latter shall consent to other disposition.
Heckuva way to wake up, but I know I’ll come to miss it all too soon, so I’m taking what I can get while it’s available.
Wise man, you are. I still wish I could sit with my son on my lap. His size would prohibit it, now, however. 6’4” and 200+ pounds...
LOL, I remember my grandfather teaching that one to me, my summer with him in Mexico.
OK...good news, the external hard drive is home, along with the old tower and its drive. Bad news, the old tower is Dead, Jim.
So tomorrow, I’ll check all the documents and photos to make sure I have what I need.
The guy said I could probably copy a few more things if I needed to, but that the drive wouldn’t be viable for more than a few minutes either way.
So it looks like I’ll have to recycle it. *sigh*
I didn’t do it!
But seriously, I’m sorry about your tower. Have some dark chocolate!
I have a casserole in the oven, and now I have to take a shower, and then look over my Sunday School lesson for tonight.
I think your CD came. Century Media in El Segundo, California?
The best wat to recycle a hard drive is with a hammer.
LOL!
I did it. Most likely, trying to put 10# of data in a 5# drive. Eventually, I’ll have to have another desk top, with lots of memory, but for now, the Dell and the Toshiba external drive will work. At least this time, I didn’t lose the data!
Odd thing: My son called last night asking me if I had photos of his previous VW, Jewel. As soon as I can in the morning, I’ll check it out and send them to him.
I told the computer guy that all I really needed to save was personal photos and documents. He already knew about the PAF files, so he saved them, first!
So if I can rescue anything else, it will be a bonus.
Hah! I thought of that before I took it to the guru! But if someone wants to replace the hard drive with something newer, that’s OK. I can’t lift the monitor any more, so it will all have to go to someone else.
I’m not sure, but I think Best Buy recycles, though it may be just the stuff they’ve sold and no one else’s. I’ll check with Fry’s, too.
Checked my cellphone last night and was worried for the calendar: No teleconferences and no meetings today. Got into work and checked the laptop: No teleconferences and no meetings today.
So now I'm trying to pick up where I left off on a whitepaper a month ago.
Stomach suddenly knotted up during lunch and remained so. But some kind soul had brought in some blackberry tea and left it in the upstairs lunchroom. I'd never heard of blackberry tea before, but it's working marvels.
They still sing it at my kids’ camps.
At breakfast.
With everyone brandishing a sausage on a fork.
It seems to have no negative impact on their appetites.
Nor mine.
Tht and calming tea were the inspiration for the Sireenian tea that makes the Inquisitor hallucinate in the rabbitoid story.
[Only the ‘real’ teas don’t do that and probably taste far better.]
I think BB will take anything, but call first to be sure.
It’s only Sunday here.
Share some Sunday with me.
That should be the one. You can open it and check if you feel it’s necessary. And if you ship it here overnight I’ll pay you back.
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