Vienna Sausage Quotes

So, standing here looking at you, all grown up, the question I ask is simple. In the long run, how different is a goddam hot dog from a Vienna sausage?

We'd like to take a look at the adoptable dogs. Please." "... if you have any thoughts of feeding the dogs, you leave that thought with me." "This is serious. You can't feed them... You feed them something you think is no big deal ... like a Slim Jim or a Vienna Sausage, and we're cleaning up a shitstorm at two AM." "Shitstorm," Mark said. " Is that the clinical term, Dr. Peterman?" " We call it a code brown at the hospital.

I’d come across a strap-on penis. It seemed pretty old and was Band-Aid colored, about three inches long and not much bigger around than a Vienna sausage, which was interesting to me. You’d think that if someone wanted a sex toy she’d go for the gold, sizewise. But this was just the bare minimum, like getting AAA breast implants. Who had this person been hoping to satisfy, her Cabbage Patch doll? I thought about taking the penis home and mailing it to one of my sisters for Christmas but knew that the moment I put it in my knapsack, I’d get hit by a car and killed. That’s just my luck. Medics would come and scrape me off the pavement, then, later, at the hospital, they’d rifle through my pack and record its contents: four garbage bags, some wet wipes, two flashlights, and a strap-on penis.

Sorry, but I'd rather sit home eating Vienna sausage straight from the can watching Andy Griffith reruns than be forced to dine with that Oompa-Loompa!

I always wondered why they called them Vienna Sausages. I assume it’s because “Carcass Paste” wouldn’t sell.

Jump to how life was when you were a baby and you could only eat baby food. You’d stagger over to the coffee table. You’re up on your feet and you have to keep waddling along on those Vienna sausage legs or fall down. Then you get to the coffee table and bounce your big soft baby head on the sharp corner. You’re down, and man, oh, man, it hurts. Still it isn’t anything tragic until Mom and Dad run over. Oh, you poor, brave thing. Only then do you cry.

If this is the Big One, he thought while the window rattled, will I be buried with Greg and Les, and will we end up drawing straws to see who eats who? Will Greg’s porky arm taste good, or will it taste as bad as he looks? Will I have to eat my toes one by one, like Vienna sausages?

Tonight, Nellie had put on quite a spread: a vegetable platter to start things off, with radish roses and olives pierced with embellished toothpicks and fresh tomatoes from her garden; canapés and shrimp cocktail and Vienna sausages and deviled eggs; then her Chicken à la King, and when they were all nearly too full to eat another thing, Baked Alaska for dessert. The conversation had been pleasant, the men discussing the upcoming election and General Electric-Telechron's new "revolutionary" snooze alarm clock, the women swooning about Elvis Presley and gossiping about Marilyn Monroe's recent wedding to Arthur Miller, which everyone agreed was an odd pairing.

Optimizing efficiency is not always a priority. One glaring example is that classic holiday event: the canned food drive. Such events help people feel involved, especially children. They raise awareness about hunger. But these are their only benefits. They are a terrible way to feed the hungry. Cans are heavy and hard to ship. Some canned, boxed and jarred food is healthy, but much is not. According to Feeding America, 58 percent of families who use food pantries nationwide have someone with hypertension, and more than 30 percent have someone with diabetes. Beefaroni, Kraft mac and cheese, and Vienna sausages are not part of the solution.

Neely Kate lowered her arm, her chest heaving from her exertion. “That man tried to steal my purse!” “You should have just let him have it. You could have gotten hurt.” “He’s the one who got hurt. I have three cans of Vienna sausages in here.

That man tried to steal my purse!” “You should have just let him have it. You could have gotten hurt.” “He’s the one who got hurt. I have three cans of Vienna sausages in here.” Rose started to ask her friend why she had Vienna sausages in her purse, then shook her head. “Never mind. Let’s go get you some lunch.

That morning, inside the cabin below, they’d found the body of Roger Tokely, fifty-eight, slouched forward in a straight-back chair, head bent, as if examining something on the floor between his feet. His beer belly prevented the body from falling forward to the floor. He faced a big-screen television mounted on the eastern wall in front of him. His arms hung on either side of his body, palms out. He wore baggy gray sweatpants and a yellow T-shirt. His feet were bare and swelled grotesquely, the thick toes looking like stubby purple Vienna sausages. There was a large pool of blood on the floor beneath Tokely’s chair. Cody guessed it was thirty inches across. The outside four inches of the pool was clear and the inside was dark and oval-shaped. Next to the pool on the right side of the body was a stainless-steel revolver.

Hennie leaned back in his chair, making his black tee stretch taut across his chest. “There’s always porn. I’ve seen the way you handle two Vienna sausages. There’s gotta be a market for that.

Batu said, “The All-Night is a great place to raise a family. Everything you need, right here. Diapers, Vienna sausages, grape-scented Magic Markers, Moon Pies—kids like Moon Pies—and then one day, when they’re tall enough, we teach them how to operate the register.

Mitsi had never eaten a Vienna sausage before, but in the first three days at Camp Harmony, they were served three times.

Incidentally,” he said with a smirk, “you ate sardines and Vienna sausages in the sand. I dined on surf and turf with an ocean view.” He slapped me on the back. “It's all about perspective.

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