Snausage Poetry.

So today everyone at work was talking about this article in the Aftenposten. It's pretty gross and has definitely turned me off hot dogs for probably the rest of my life. Consider yourself warned.

Anyhow, me and one of my co-workers have lately discovered that we both have the same talent for impromptu poetry. After our discussion about the sausage with extra snacky goodness, she sent me the following poem:

Ode to a rat's foot

One happy day I sat and ate

My lunch of sausage meat,

When to my great surprise I felt

The crunch of little feet.

I chewed and chewed my lovely meal

But it ended in such grief;

Removing with a toothpick....

Tiny toenails between my teeth.

Poor little rat fell in among

The innards and the snouts.

No matter how hard he tried and tried,

He never made it out.

So now he's lunch and that's a fact

I'm very sad to say.

But I'm still hungry, so I think,

I'll eat him anyway.

I really like my job. The people there are just wierd enough that I fit in quite well.