GETTING MORE TALE #765:
“Three Yolks, Two Whites” …and One Fucked Up Tent: The Sausagefest 2019 Story
It’s better than Christmas. It’s better than birthdays. It’s more rock and roll than Lemmy snorting coke off Ozzy Osbourne’s cock. It’s Sausagefest.
We look forward to this rock and roll party every year. It is the highlight of our calendars. We meticulously plan out songs, sketches, jokes, and food. Mountains of meat, sizzling to a soundtrack of pure integrity (with a couple musical exceptions). Male companionship? More like brotherhood.
Preparation is key. I started recording bits for my Sausagefest contributions late last year. All my introductions were “finished” weeks ahead of time, which gave the rare opportunity to listen and go back and fix things that were not working. It was worth it. The intros were well received and Uncle Meat enjoyed the Rob Gronkowski bits that I poached from Family Guy.
Meat and I left town after lunch on Friday, and as per our new tradition, stopped at Value Village to buy new T-shirts for the party. The more ridiculous the better, for him. He found a stupidly bright pink shirt depicting a Dr. Aftab Patla, and for me a shirt that said “OFFICER OF ROCK” on the back.
“Should have said ‘cock’,” commented my pal Jason.
This is the kind of stuff we find funny.
It was a blazing hot Friday and as soon as I had my new tent and canopy set up, I went down to the river for the first swim of the weekend. Many of the boys had already arrived, and our glorious leader Tom pulled in at the same time we did.
There was an issue early in the evening. Apparently the old laptop that has been playing the Countdown ever since they did the switch to mp3 has a bad audio out jack. The backup plan was to play the Countdown off Meat’s phone, but it refused to play the tracks in the right order. As a team we re-numbered all the id3 tags and renamed all the tracks until his phone miraculously began to do what we needed. All of this done in a big open field on a Samsung phone.
The legendary 100 song Countdown was inaugurated this year by Styx with “Renegade”. We were treated to a slew of classics (Black Sabbath, the Kinks, Drive By Truckers, Queensryche, Tenacious D, etc.) and a few duds (Afroman). There is a certain, shall we say, younger element that has grown as Sausagefest expanded. These highly respected youngsters were responsible for voting in some pretty incredible music from rock to funk. Where they confuse me periodically is shit like Afroman. You will hear me ranting about the rap songs on this year’s video, included at the bottom.
Afroman was one of nine songs that were given to me to introduce. I refused to do it; instead I ranted for a bit about being stuck with a shit song, and asked my radio buddy Erik Woods to do it. So picture that deep radio voice announcing, “this song is called ‘She Won’t Let Me Fuck'”.
I will give the young fellas credit for one thing. When I arrived, I found out they were already campaigning for votes to get “Beth” onto next year’s Countdown. This is, of course, because in 2015 I had to blast the song at full volume to wake up Uncle Meat, and even that wouldn’t do it. Personally I would love if “Beth” made the Countdown next year, as a little wink to the Meat Man, who is not a morning person. You’ll see that in the video as well.
Max the Axe wanted to grab breakfast at the Spatula early Saturday morning. We roused the Meat Man, who was more than a little displeased to find out we arrived before they actually opened. I took the brunt of the blame even though it was Max (his own band leader) who wanted to go! And this is where things go slightly sideways.
The Spatula opened just five minutes later, and Max the Axe threw a wrench into things immediately by ordering eggs with “three yolks, and two whites”. Our server didn’t seem to be in the best of moods, having already referred to Sebastien Munier as “Mr. Tattoo” when he walked in. Max’s order was probably not the first one she wanted to take that morning.
“I don’t understand what he wants,” she said to us. “I’m just giving him two eggs.” The rest of us nodded in agreement. Three yolks and two whites? Who the fuck orders that?
“The chefs know how to make it!” testified Max in his own defence. “They use the leftover egg white to make Hollandaise sauce.”
I did my research on this, and just to make everything even funnier, Max got that 100% wrong. According to every recipe I consulted, Hollandaise sauce is made with yolks, not whites!
Max ate his two eggs in peace, but we were actually a bit perturbed at a new, teeny-tiny menu. The legendary Flesherton Fillup breakfast is gone. So is the steak and eggs. It’s all gone, replaced by a simplified menu where you have to build your own replica Flesherton Fillup by ordering the extra meats and add-ons yourself.
“When did you get rid of the Flesherton Fillup?” asked Meat.
“Oh, we haven’t had that in a long time,” said the server.
“We were here last year and you had it then, I’m just surprised,” said Meat.
Condescendingly she answered, “Isn’t a year a long time?”
An underwhelming breakfast couldn’t derail us, though we will consider finding a new breakfast joint next year. Here’s a fact you didn’t know: the legendary Max the Axe is a garage sale aficionado. Who knew that rock stars spent their weekend mornings hitting up garage sales? We took Max to a couple garage sales on our way back, and apparently he just missed an old quadraphonic receiver ($5.00) by about five minutes.
It was a lazy afternoon spent (mostly) in the river, socializing and playing with my new waterproof camera. With flawless timing, Zach the Lamb Lord served up his perfectly marinated side of lamb. He outdid himself this year, with perhaps the juiciest lamb ever cooked by anyone.
The second evening’s continuation of the Countdown rewound a bit for those of us (like me) who fell asleep early the night before. As the sun slowly began to turn into fire behind the trees, we all listened in. Some were cooking steaks, some playing Frisbee, with the rest of us sitting attentively around the fire.
I had four more song intros on day two. Another radio buddy, Jason Drury, helped me out with an intro for the B-52’s “Rock Lobster”. Jason is from Ramsgate in the UK but everybody seemed to have different ideas of where he was from. “Who was that Australian guy?” or “Who was that Irish guy?” Day two of the Countdown had some smoking good tunes, including surprises like “Women in Uniform”, a non-album single by Iron Maiden. When Tom posts the full tracklist for the entire Countdown, I’ll do the same.
Sausagefest may have ended, but the next morning offered its own unique challenge: waking up Uncle Meat. “It’s going to be pretty difficult to spin this to make you look good,” he said pointedly, and he’s right. I’m not asking anyone to take my side in this. However, if you don’t think it’s funny as hell, that’s not my problem.
I had to be back in town at a certain time. “When should I start the process of waking him up, given that I want to be home by noon?” I asked his roomate Zach.
“I’d start now,” he said bluntly. It was 8:00 am.
I gently woke him by telling him I wanted to start getting ready to go. He could nap a bit longer but I would eventually need his help taking down the canopy. I put on Kiss Alive II and toiled on packing up my stuff. I stopped the album a couple times while I was working, but when “Beth” came on, I did what I had to do. I blasted it for him. This was his alarm clock.
I waited a while longer, asked some advice. I shook his tent a little and told him to get up. An anonymous man (who has an excellent real first name) suggested I remove a couple of the tentpoles. That seemed reasonable. It didn’t do much though. I gave it a little more time, and then removed the final two tentpoles. Meat lay there motionless.
“Is there anyone even in there?” someone asked. Oh, he was in there. Trust me.
“Maybe now you should take the top of the tent off,” said a second anonymous man. Unnecessary.
Like an animal trapped in a net, first an arm thrust forth. It failed to penetrate the tent. Then an unsuccessful leg kicked up. Then another arm, and another leg. Then, as the frenzy built, the tent transformed into a ball of limbs, trying to smash their way through. If you stuck that crazy rat from Stranger Things 3 in a bag, it would have looked a lot like Meat in his tent. We watched the activity from a distance, guffawing so loudly that I have never come so close to actually piss myself laughing. I could feel a bead of pee forming. The futile struggle to open the tent, from a safe orbit, was simultaneously pants-wettingly funny and tear-forming sad! Max was the first to have mercy on Uncle Meat, and opened the tent for him.
Because I gave him the tent, he threw one of the tent poles into the forest in retaliation. That’s OK; I have lots of spares!
He was justifiably mad. So was Chuck, for me blasting “Beth” at a still fairly early hour. These people don’t get it. You cannot go anywhere with Uncle Meat when you want to, unless you take extreme measures. You are at the mercy of his whims, his hangover, and his appetite for cigarettes. Oh sure, he’ll keep you laughing the whole way home (at least when his voice isn’t completely fucked) but actually getting him packed and into the vehicle is its own entire movie to itself. The Sausagefest spinoff movie would have to be called Bedsheet Puptent: The Waking of Meat.
I got home 30 minutes earlier than I had to be, which was fucking perfect. So, thank you Meat for not bearing a grudge, but I got home in excellent time. Thank you for your cooperation! I cheered him up by messing with Dave Haslam on the way home, in the car behind us. That put the smile back on Meat’s face. Even though Haslam was completely innocent in all this, he had to pay the price to get Meat back in a good mood.
It was actually a nice ride home, spent listening to a soundboard bootleg from Iron Maiden’s Matter of Life and Death tour. “That was their best album since Seventh Son“, he said. I claimed Somewhere in Time. It matters not. It was a great listen, even though a few days earlier Meat was complaining about a live Kiss show sounding “too bootleggy”.
It was an awesome Fest, but aren’t they all? I’ve never experienced a dud. Our most excellent host and his companions in the shenanigans put on a great show every year. Stay tuned for the full Countdown. Until then, enjoy the video which captures the flavour of the Fest. See how many songs you recognize from the Countdown!