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.”
Hey now... I haven’t put on THAT much weight.
I don't think they ever did anything without monumentally stupid lyrics. Some website called them "the first heavy metal band" or something like that. Not possible, because the genre should have died right then and there -- for all folks went wild over the long drum solo in their big hit.
I ripped their "Evolution" LP to MP3 some time back and play it once in a (long) while just to remind myself how bad it could get. Or to freak out visitors to my office. *\;^)
I don't recall there being an instrumental part in this one. But I could be wrong.
LOL!
The ability to brighten any room is a plus.
Especially if you can’t get incandescent light bulbs.
Yep. It look just like dey eated dem.
They will do that.
How are you today? We went to Mass at 7:30, and I’m going to practice music later. And maybe Francisco will take a nap.
Right now, I’m struggling with a migraine, and I keep trying to ignore it. For a while, I thought of going back to bed, but the pain negated that. Still, it sounds good.
Maybe I need a dose of chocolate...
Discovery is home for the last time.
One down; two to go.
I saw the first launch; I’ll see the last landing.
Who knows where we go from there. For sure the Obaminable No-man has no vision.
Misty here this morning.
Thanks, Discovery, for giving us SOMETHING we can still be proud of.
We were in Tucson, when the first shuttle took off, and like you, I’ll watch the last landing. We can only hope our next POTUS has more vision than Nobambie.
The very first test I was involved in, they were trying to find the optimum configuration of the Shuttle's rockets. The last one was a dynamic vibration test of the heat shield panels, to see if they could mechanically withstand reentry. (Test results said, "yes.")
I was in kindergarden/first grade back in 1980 when the first one launched.
Of course, now we have The Boy Who Would Be Fink as our sitting Cranial Dent in teh White House, so space exploration is out of the question with him.
[It’s neocolonialism in his eyes]
John Wayne Bobbit?
Don’t misunderstand me; I’ve never been to a launch or landing in-person, but watched them on TV, and this morning on-line (NASA TV).
I remember being a little kid at my friend’s house and watching the re-entry and splashdown of Apollo 11 on TV.
It’s a sorry state of affairs that we’ve no great leadership casting vision into the future. Truly, where there is no vision, the people perish.
But, hey, at least we’ve got a State of “affairs” we can blog about. Where WOULD we be without philandering politicians? [EYEROLL]
This month’s home of the Undead Thread.
Great.
Now I have this horribe rewrite of Banarama’s version of “Venus” in my head.
Only.. It’s Bobbit.
Chopped it on the mountaintop.
Running like a chick insane
And Bobbit was her name.
Yeah, she’s Bobbit, yeah baby she’s bobbit.
Cut your .. nevermind.
I’ve had little opportunity to watch them. But I remember Alan Shephard’s flight; they set up a TV in the gymn at school, but I watched it on the neighbor’s TV.
reminded me of a joke...
She was saying, “...I’m a nympho, but I only get turrned on by Jewish cowboys. By the way, my name’s Dianne.”
He said, “Hi, Dianne, I’m Bucky Goldstein.”
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