The News and Dr. Sausage Fingers

I happened to be sitting in the doctor’s office this week and began to leaf through the periodicals (trust me, I’m using that term very loosely). They were spread out on the table for the patients to read. The guy next to me was complaining to his wife about “Dr. Sausage Fingers” checking his prostate. Apparently, he was not looking forward to the exam. He looked like a first-time drug mule with a pound of heroin in his rectum about to find out how the goods were being delivered.

The first magazine I looked at contained food and restaurant stories. A lot of advertisements with an occasional 2 paragraph “story” mixed in. I came across two food promotions being advertised. KFC was unveiling a new sandwich with what they described as an exciting new twist – Cheetos! They have a piece of chicken on a bun and then cram a load of Cheetos on top of the bird. The other promotion involved Pizza Hut offering free pizza to the couple who give birth to the baby who has an official birth time closest to the time of kickoff for this year’s Super Bowl.

First there is the KFC sandwich. This involves a layer of Cheetos and special Cheetos sauce along with a bun and some fried chicken. The promotion involves a limited release for the sandwich which is only available in the southern part of the United States. If interest is high enough the sandwich will become available nationwide. It is quite obvious to me why this death bird is only available down south. I once had the unpleasant experience of spending an afternoon in Little Rock, Arkansas. This is the first town I had ever spent time in where the toothbrushes clearly outnumbered the teeth. I wandered into a restaurant called The Cozy Kitchen and was introduced to a slice of Americana that most people don’t even know exists. The chef stood behind a lunch counter with stains all over his shirt and his cigar ashes falling into the food as he yelled obscenities at the staff, or staph in this case. The menu advertised such delicacies as, Bar-B -Q chicken, Bar-B-Q beef, Bar-B-Q pork, Bar-B-Q opossum, Bar-B-Q humidity etc. You get the picture. These people would be begging for a bag of Cheetos! The advertisement for this debeaked widow maker should be a picture of the Colonel standing over Chester Cheeto laid out in a hospital bed with the cardiologist pulling a sheet over his head. This isn’t a sandwich, it’s a gastrointestinal hitman.

As for pizza hut, the NFL says it wants to reward its fans that are expanding their family so close to the big game. Free pizza for the entire year for the winner. Fans in New Orleans complained that if the NFL wanted to reward its fans they should call a fucking interference penalty!!! Evidently, they are still bitter. If the NFL wants to reward the rest of the country they would force the Patriots to eat the KFC cheese rooster until the entire team flatlines.

Another article in the magazine caught my attention. A London restaurant in search of sustainable protein is now offering gray squirrel lasagna. Apparently, the chef struck a deal with his wild boar supplier in order to get the squirrel carcasses. Ivan Tisdall-Downes, the chef, claims the meat isn’t as gamey as rabbit and is a really nice white meat. I have a lot of questions here. My first question is – what in the hell is a wild boar supplier? How does one stumble into this vocation? Is there a school for this? Are you forced to watch Wild Kingdom on Animal Planet and then walk around the woods looking for a pig with big teeth? For God’s sake -are they telling the customers they are eating wild boar? Am I ordering a pulled pork sandwich and instead being tricked into eating pulled Pumbaa? How the hell is this supplier getting enough squirrel meat to make lasagna? I wonder if they put the weird little squirrel hands into the lasagna? I made a mental note of the restaurant in case I’m in London but won’t put it in this story so the rest of you can play “Restaurant Russian Roulette” the next time you are in London. Eat up!

I decided to switch magazines at this point. I opened up Live Science magazine. The first article I came across involved researchers in Japan. Evidently, a group of scientists there recently developed a method of transforming human feces into steak. These scientists were asked by the Tokyo Sewage Department to come up with a practical use for the excess sewage. By isolating the proteins from the bacteria in human waste and combining them with carbs and fat they developed a meat like substance. Of course, they strongly recommend cooking the “steak” thoroughly before consuming it. Cooking it will make no difference. I can hear it already – “this steak tastes like shit!” Now, my Aunt Cora will finally be able to keep a job. She’s four hundred pounds and produces enough “steak” each day to feed Myanmar. Every time she needs new shoes she calls a blacksmith. For years she wore a shirt that had the word Man-eater on it but I just assumed she had misspelled the word Manatee. I can’t wait to pitch my new restaurant idea to her.

I tossed Live Science aside and picked up the Catholic Register. There was an article about technology. In January the Pope and the Catholic Church introduced a new app - “click to pray.” The church has begun to embrace technology. Evidently, you click on the app and you can follow mass or pray with the Pope on the new Worldwide Prayer Network. I was kind of surprised that the article didn’t continue with this additional information - Many of the local parish priests feel that there are bugs that need to be worked out before the app will be of any use to them. The app needs to be further developed in order for them to continue to fondle the younger parishioners through the smart phone or I-pad. Yuck!!! The next two stories involved a man who got drunk and lit his prosthetic leg on fire and an article about an epileptic dwarf who made pizzas.

I never got a chance to read those articles because the nurse called my name and my prostate let out a scream! I was only there for a TDAP shot but I quickly looked up the Worldwide Prayer Network on my phone as I headed into the exam room, just in case.