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 love FR...
I thought it was:
"To our wives and girlfriends.
May they never meet."
Also remember, "It's a small world."
Actually, I was referring to the golf joke.
Two guys were playing golf, and were stuck behind a pair of female golfers. The two men thought they could play faster, and discussed asking to “play through”.
One of them walked forward, and then came back.
“I couldn’t go through with it. When I got closer, I realized that one of those women is my wife, and the other is my girlfriend!”
“That could be a problem. How about this? I’ll go up and ask them, and we’ll get beyond this impasse.” Then he walked forward.
He got closer, and then he too stopped, and turned back.
“Now what’s wrong?” His friend asked.
“It’s a small world.”
EXCELLENT!
Watching a show about Thailand and Cambodia. Fresh crab and shrimp, tropical fruit, peppercorns right off the plants. Beautiful scenery. I’d move there in a heartbeat if I could.
I guess you’ll have to settle for Louisiana.
Try to make room for company. You never know.
Darkshearian influences are easier to blame than family genetic influences, puts less pressure and responsibility on family genetics and is easier to deal with from a ‘mental clarity and sanity’ standpoint.
What is a ‘mental clarity and sanity’ standpoint?
Try to picture yourself as Rod Serling; nice sports jacket and tie, cultured voice, and standing at a safe distance.
We can hear the background music in our heads.
Ah!
But they're really Welsh words. We just adopted them with their Welsh spelling.
continuum, residuum
(I cheated.)
Just because I adopted my daughter does not make he any less mine.
Some typos are more typographically inconvenient than others.
Yes, and we have facade and façade both. But radio in Gaelic is reidio.
Darks, are you around?
Everything looks better on tv than in real life. And you don’t smell it.
Our chameleon is laying eggs. They’re like chickens: they produce eggs even if they aren’t fertilized. She might lay 40 or more.
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