The sausages will not let me sleep. Their whispers whisper to me.
They say, “summer is the season when the sausages' sweet siren song sizzles softly on the grill.”
I long to stuff my gut tube with gut tubes stuffed with gut tubes of other tasty creatures.
This scene is obviously a trap. It is too perfect.
Does anyone know anything about blood sausage?
I will just eat mine in the trees where it’s safe.
Don’t forget to bet on the sausage race on your way out.
I hope I will not have to use this.