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    Blimey’s Canine Kraut – A Recipe In Two Acts


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    by
    2008 November 16

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    Join us now for a new style in recipe delivery as Featured Belly Buddy Mike Best conveys Blimey’s Canine Kraut recipe through the timeless art of storytelling with his tale of Jacko and Bridge, an odd pair to say the least, as they stumble through the Australian outback in search of a hearty meal.

    EXT. WIND SWEPT STREET – NIGHT

    Avenues howl like Chrysler Wind Test Tunnels. Umbrellas snap. Street signs shudder.

    In all, an impossible day for walking.

    JACKO, the mongoloid Aussie, leans into the gail, his dreadlocks whipping.

    JACKO
    Hoy. I’d like a beasty bit ‘o sausage ‘n kraut ’bout now.

    His companion, a bright chirpy piece of ass named BRIDGE, holds onto Jacko’s trench coat for dear life.

    BRIDGE
    Now?

    JACKO
    Why not? Now’re neva, I say.

    BRIDGE
    Well, if we can make it three more blocks, I know a place to get you some!

    EXT. BLIMEY’S SHANTYHOUSE – NIGHT

    Outside of Blimey’s looks benign enough, except for the longhorns and shrunken heads in the window.

    JACKO
    (eclipsing the door) ‘Dis it?

    BRIDGE
    Go in, jerko! The salami’s waiting!

    JACKO
    You don’ ‘ave t’be mean.

    INT. BLIMEY’S – SAME

    Inside, the two snake their way to the bar. A FAT MAN with no shirt appears from no where.

    His substantial breasts sag like hangmen.

    FAT MAN
    What’ll it be, ya shits?

    BRIDGE
    Blow off, Fat Man. Jacko here wants some Canine Kraut.

    FAT MAN
    (accepting the order as password) Why didn’t you say so?

    JACKO
    Canine Kraut?

    FAT MAN
    You never had? Jeesh. It’s been served here for almost a hunderd years. A freak like you should have had some by now.

    JACKO
    Don’ rile me, bloat-liva. If ther’ ‘aint no sausagez inme sight soon, you’re the furst one gettin’ it.

    BRIDGE
    Calm down. It’s worth the wait, and the ballgame’s on.

    Fat Man goes into the kitchen. He takes six Hebrew National Knockwurst [or the sausage/dog/kilbasa of his choice] and sprinkles them with Tabasco Sauce.

    Opening the lid to his now warm crock pot, he dumps in a large bag of fresh saurkraut, which he bought from his grocer’s refrigerated section [near the pickles].

    He then places the wurst on top of the kraut. Pouring a quarter can of beer on top, he covers them and leaves them alone for three hours.

    BAR – DAY – THREE HOURS LATER

    Bridge and Jacko knosh happily on their Canine Kraut.

    BRIDGE
    The ballgame was good, eh?

    JACKO
    Not as good as ‘is. Ere, whas’ ‘dis roll made uv?

    FAT MAN
    (watching the meal devoured) Potato Rolls. A must. Otherwise it juz’ aint right.

    EXT. WIND SWEPT STREET – NIGHT

    Back into the howling night, Jacko and Bridge crawl the streets, in search of—well, who knows what Jacko will hunger for next?

    Pardon us while we pay for beer...

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