It was the best of times, it was the wurst of times, it was the age of beef, it was the age of pork, it was the epoch of the fancy stone-ground mustard with whole seeds mixed in, it was the epoch of sauerkraut but none of those flowery bullshit recipes with carrots or apples or cranberries I’m talking cabbage and caraway seeds and THAT’S IT, it was the season of light beer, it was the season of dark beer, it was the spring of a dope slope of pope soap rope, it was the winter of despair, we had all this goddamn sausage before us, we had nothing before us because some of us were vegetarians and Jerry decided to mix some crispy wurst bits into the sauerkraut so even that was off the table first metaphorically and hen literally when one too many jokes at the expense of Jarvis’s diet were made and he decided to clear off the table with his forearm, we were all going direct to the Heaven-themed party that Lucie was throwing but Jerry and Jarvis were at each other’s throats and they got into a fistfight on the way over so we turned around, we were all going direct the other way but Jerry would not leave it alone and he snatched Jarvis’s hat and stomped it into a puddle which Jarvis did not take kindly to and it took good several samaritans to help me pull them off each other at which time they huffed off in opposite directions and will I’m sure continue this fight when they see each other at work on Monday — in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.
There were a king with a large jaw that at all times was just stuffed with all kinds of different bratwursts he had Fränkische Bratwurst and Coburger Bratwurst and Kulmbacher Bratwurst and even Thüringer Rostbratwurst and their juices would puddle in a pool on his lap and he would need to call in a servant to clean it up but not with a napkin but with a thick slice of break so that he may enjoy the juices a second time and a queen with a plain face who was clearly annoyed at the king’s eating habits and would lead a choir of relentless scoffing as the king inhaled foot after foot of succulent pork and beef on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw which would always be clenched so tight that no matter how many servants tried to pry it open so that they could insert his daily recommended twelve serving of bratwurst none could open it even a millimeter and they even had a contest once where all of the strongest men across the land lined up to try and open the king’s jaw and not even the most burly of Frenchmen were able to insert a single link and a queen with a fair face who would eat bratwurst like corn on the cob with her hands on each end nibbling along the outside just eating the intestine casings and when she was done with a link she would pass it on to her head mistress who would grind it into a fine pulp and inject it with a rudimentary syringe into the space between the king’s first and second canine on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than sauerkraut fluids to the lords of the State preserves of bratwurst and BRATWURST ALONE, that things in general were settled for ever.
Slam Zuckert is a municipal bureaucrat. He sees a lot of movies and reads a lot of books and sometimes writes about them. His favorite movie is There Will Be Blood, his favorite mathematician is Georg Cantor, and his least favorite mathematician is Leopold Kronecker.
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