My meat ignorance, Part I

This will probably come as a shock, but there's a lot I don't know about meat.

I mean... I know where it comes from. And it's not the same place as babies. Well, at least not directly. But this volume of "My meat ignorance," the first part of an ongoing series, providing many "that's what she said" opportunities to my eager and mature audience, will focus on sausage.

Back when I lived in the Midwest, at breakfast time, sausage came in two forms: patty and finger-sized link. Here in NYC, sausage only seems to come in one form: dinosaur-serious-SERIOUS-you-can-definitely-tell-a-butcher-stuffed-indiscriminate-animal-parts-into-some-intestinal-tract-and-tied-it-off-like-a-balloon-animal.

This may be better sausage, more legit sausage, a more keepin' it real and true to da streets kind of sausage. But it scares the crap out of me! Maybe not all NY sausage is like this. After receiving these ginormo-links from the kitchen of a diner voted "BEST RESTAURANT IN QUEENS 1998," there's no way I'm making that mistake twice. I just can't handle that kind of sausage.