June 18, 2010
Jimmy Dean Sausage Complaint Call
Jimmy Dean sausage is for Southern people to eat.
Also, I think he forgets to hang up at the end.
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comments:
- Joel Bernstein: I know right?
- Rick Neece: Being nice is a dainty way to put it.
- Rick Neece: Hey Cristopher? Who cried “uncle” first, at the end of your ten-year stand-off? To quote my...
- Michael Smith: Ours is the kitchen.
- Amy Mabli: That’s what happens when you give the dogs the bed.
- Deron Bauman: Sweet Jesus.
- Michael Smith: Don’t we all.
- Pam: I have a story coming out soon in a ‘little mag’, Chicago Quarterly Review. An old friend recently...
- Pam: And I thought, somedays, that my work was meaningless…
- Pam: I remember Eggleston at the Art Institute in Chicago a couple years ago. He was elegantly dressed in a dark suit...
- Christopher Walken: Hey Clusterflockers, Realize y’all are hurting. I’ve been a really close friend of my...
- Marco: This works pretty well in mobile, more so in iOS
- Michael Smith: It was not the intent of management to imply all sissies are “namby pamby”. Management was...
- Rick Neece: I take umbrage with the term “namby pamby.” Some sissies are fierce.
- Carole Corlew: Shelia. Happy no big deal day. I would start your very own post but this phone is in semi rebellion.
Deron, that is the best thing I have heard since . . .
Well, you remember the fellow who handled the sale of my mother’s furniture.
“We only got one rule around here, and that’s ‘no hittin’ in the face’.”
You have made me very very happy, Deron.
pretty fucking great, huh?
“A woman that’s a little plump Scotch girl.”
Fuck, I want to eat, goddamn it.
You have also made me very happy, Deron.
Also – “As for your 16 ounce maple and sage 16? I don’t eat that. I’m not from the north.”
All those maple and sage eating northern pussified girlie men.
and “Somebody needs their ass kicked.”
Pure freaking gold, dudes.
And a T-bone steak.
A Canadian might feed his family on that goddamn maple and sage sausage, but no Texas man would set something like that down on the breakfast table. Goddamn.
Six hundred pounds of men. At least. You get my point?
Apparently, this issue has been resolved peacefully.
Damn this is good. I like to hear Texas sausage-eating civility. Next: “This Dodge truck is good an all, but the shoks on the sumbich ain’t worth the since god gave a donkey.”
I wish he’d worked ‘piss-ant’ in there somewhere, but I’m not complaining.
Maybe he should consider increasing the families bacon intake to account for the missing 4 ounces of sausage.
Damnit! Cindy, I’m sorry…I meant Family’s.
It’s okay, Michael. Missing apostrophes don’t hurt me nearly as much as misplaced ones.
“Jimmy Dean hawking a goddamn lil’ compact Chevy Corvair. Room for six a-dults, he says. Room for Mom, Pop, and the five kids! Nobody’s gonna have their knees up under their chin, he says. I don’t know what kind of family Chevy has in mind with this goddamn compact of theirs but I know it ain’t an American family.
Engine in the rear, my ass.”
Okay, I finally got to listen to this. For the love of god, thank you. Thank you, Deron. Thank you, Texas. God bless us, every one.
It’s like mother fucking jesus fucking Jimmy Dean fucking sausage fucking Christmas.
This made me very happy.
We listened to this again for breakfast.
I hereby declare this the very best thing on clusterflock, ever.
goddam pussy roll’a sausage
I want to memorize it.
I have just about memorized it already.
His voice is compelling.
His delivery reminds me very much of Tom Bitros, Deron.
(Y’all, that’s the fellow who handled the sale of my late mother’s furniture and household effects down in Dallas a couple of months ago.)
I agree.
Sheila and Deron should record their own versions. The Sausage Aristocrats, if you will.
pretty much read my mind.
Like versions of “Telephone”.
I’m holding out for the house remix
[...] Randy Taylor. I don’t know where you people come from. I don’t know if you test your products. Your quantity of your products. Your products are very delicious. Love your sausage for thirty something years. But I can’t take and feed a family of five on a little twelve ounce roll of sausage. I don’t mind paying more money for your sixteen ounce roll of sausage, but you don’t have it anymore. You’ve got a twelve ounce roll and you’ve got three men that weigh over two-hundred pounds a piece, a woman that’s a little plump Scotch girl, and a daughter who’s thirteen, and you’re going to try to take a twelve ounce roll of sausage and a couple of dozen eggs and feed that — it ain’t going to work — and I’m not going to purchase your product any more or ever again. And as far as your sixteen ounce Maple and Sage, I don’t eat that. I’m not from the North. I’m a Texas man. Jimmy Dean Sausage is for Southern people to eat with their breakfast, with their fried eggs and their t-bone steak, and I can’t see going to little twelve ounce package to feed four five six people and I’m not going to buy two of those twelve ounce packages just because you want to downsize and charge the same goddamn price. I’d sure like a reply and I’d sure like you to go back to your sixteen ounce package on your regular sausage ’cause I’m not going to buy it otherwise ever again. I’ll just have my own damn sausage made like I used to thirty something years ago. It’s not tasty as yours is but it’ll work. Good bye. A little twelve ounce goddamn roll supposed to feed your brother, me, and you — six hundred pounds of men at least, get my point? — and the two girls, and they put it in that fucking pussy roll of sausage. Son of a bitch. Somebody needs their ass kicked. Some little consumer geekaroid thought this shit up. Save money, yeah. Saves money. Save money. Fuck, I want to eat, goddammit. [...]