The shining sausage

I have oft spoken of the sausage on a hill.  In my mind it is a tall shining sausage built of meats stronger than oceans, wind-seasoned, delicious, and teeming with spices of all kinds living in harmony and peace, a sausage with free pancakes that hummed with bees and honey, and if there had to be sausage walls, the walls had doors and the doors were open to anyone with the will and the heart to get there.  That's how I saw it and see it still.

That was beautiful.

But Sir, the Mustard - what of it?

>>3
The hill overlooks a valley.  A golden mustard valley.

Dear Tim Buckley,

You can't draw faces. In fact you can't draw, period. You can't write jokes, nor can you write good stories. You can't keep an honest job, or talk intelligently about anything, not even your hobbies. You can't even do what every single on of your Irish ancestor did, namely make a living offspring. You are a complete and utter failure.

Sincerely,

Your B^Uggest fan. Dear Tim Buckley,

You can't draw faces. In fact you can't draw, period. You can't write jokes, nor can you write good stories. You can't keep an honest job, or talk intelligently about anything, not even your hobbies. You can't even do what every single on of your Irish ancestor did, namely make a living offspring. You are a complete and utter failure.

Sincerely,

Your B^Uggest fan. Dear Tim Buckley,

You can't draw faces. In fact you can't draw, period. You can't write jokes, nor can you write good stories. You can't keep an honest job, or talk intelligently about anything, not even your hobbies. You can't even do what every single on of your Irish ancestor did, namely make a living offspring. You are a complete and utter failure.

Sincerely,

Your B^Uggest fan. Dear Tim Buckley,

You can't draw faces. In fact you can't draw, period. You can't write jokes, nor can you write good stories. You can't keep an honest job, or talk intelligently about anything, not even your hobbies. You can't even do what every single on of your Irish ancestor did, namely make a living offspring. You are a complete and utter failure.

Sincerely,

Your B^Uggest fan. Dear Tim Buckley,

You can't draw faces. In fact you can't draw, period. You can't write jokes, nor can you write good stories. You can't keep an honest job, or talk intelligently about anything, not even your hobbies. You can't even do what every single on of your Irish ancestor did, namely make a living offspring. You are a complete and utter failure.

Sincerely,

Your B^Uggest fan. Dear Tim Buckley,

You can't draw faces. In fact you can't draw, period. You can't write jokes, nor can you write good stories. You can't keep an honest job, or talk intelligently about anything, not even your hobbies. You can't even do what every single on of your Irish ancestor did, namely make a living offspring. You are a complete and utter failure.

Sincerely,

Your B^Uggest fan. Dear Tim Buckley,

You can't draw faces. In fact you can't draw, period. You can't write jokes, nor can you write good stories. You can't keep an honest job, or talk intelligently about anything, not even your hobbies. You can't even do what every single on of your Irish ancestor did, namely make a living offspring. You are a complete and utter failure.

Sincerely,

Your B^Uggest fan. Dear Tim Buckley,

You can't draw faces. In fact you can't draw, period. You can't write jokes, nor can you write good stories. You can't keep an honest job, or talk intelligently about anything, not even your hobbies. You can't even do what every single on of your Irish ancestor did, namely make a living offspring. You are a complete and utter failure.

Sincerely,

Your B^Uggest fan. Dear Tim Buckley,

You can't draw faces. In fact you can't draw, period. You can't write jokes, nor can you write good stories. You can't keep an honest job, or talk intelligently about anything, not even your hobbies. You can't even do what every single on of your Irish ancestor did, namely make a living offspring. You are a complete and utter failure.

Sincerely,

Your B^Uggest fan. Dear Tim Buckley,

You can't draw faces. In fact you can't draw, period. You can't write jokes, nor can you write good stories. You can't keep an honest job, or talk intelligently about anything, not even your hobbies. You can't even do what every single on of your Irish ancestor did, namely make a living offspring. You are a complete and utter failure.

Sincerely,

Your B^Uggest fan. Dear Tim Buckley,

You can't draw faces. In fact you can't draw, period. You can't write jokes, nor can you write good stories. You can't keep an honest job, or talk intelligently about anything, not even your hobbies. You can't even do what every single on of your Irish ancestor did, namely make a living offspring. You are a complete and utter failure.

Sincerely,

Your B^Uggest fan. Dear Tim Buckley,

You can't draw faces. In fact you can't draw, period. You can't write jokes, nor can you write good stories. You can't keep an honest job, or talk intelligently about anything, not even your hobbies. You can't even do what every single on of your Irish ancestor did, namely make a living offspring. You are a complete and utter failure.

Sincerely,

Your B^Uggest fan. Dear Tim Buckley,

You can't draw faces. In fact you can't draw, period. You can't write jokes, nor can you write good stories. You can't keep an honest job, or talk intelligently about anything, not even your hobbies. You can't even do what every single on of your Irish ancestor did, namely make a living offspring. You are a complete and utter failure.

Sincerely,

Your B^Uggest fan.

I have oft spoken about the lake of mustard. In my imagination the lake glistens all golden in its incredible brilliance; vaster than the 7 seas. A mere teaspoon encapsulating more flavour than one's had in their entire life. That's how I saw it and see it still.

People cling to the shining sausage because space is infinite. They feel lonely without a unifying symbol. For a lonely people, the shining sausage is a definite place. They can turn toward it and say: ``See, there it is. It makes us one.''

>>7
Is the ``shining sausage'' a monolith?

>>8
The shining sausage can be anything you want it to be, for it is an infinite array of possibilities projected from within a single entity.

>>9
A singularity? (　・。・）

I formally declare "the shining sausage on the hill" to be a new meme and it should be used in that capacity hereafter.

And wrapped around the base of the hill is a giant kielbasa, sizzling in all its meaty goodness

I have heard of this place, and your words must be true. For in fair Albion, when the great bap of our fair land was beset with the advancing hordes of Weiner Schnitzel and bastard Bratwurst, seething with cooked meats of foul origins, our griddle was saved by the might of the Lincolnshire Pork Sausage, mighty in girth and abundant in the flavours of fresh herbs. And all who took to it knew very well that any person who came unto this place, the Hill of the Sausage, would forevermore pledge their alleigance to the power of that cylinder of God-like flesh, and forego any false dreams of a paradise besmirched with pale imitations and rancid flesh. Yay, Let it be writ large in the Tapestry of Bayeux, that on this day we go not to the Hill of the Sausage, but that the Hill of the Sausage cometh to all mankind!

Sure is britfag in here

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Ah yess I see a mighty corpulant haggis upon the glenn

I believe in the shining sausage because it fills the shining sausage-shaped void inside of me.