So, if you follow me on Facebook, you already know about my somewhat unnatural love for Duke’s Smoked Shorty Sausages. I discovered them through a twist of fate, and like a winning lottery ticket: they have changed my life. They inspired in me the need to be the “Unofficial Unpaid Spokesman” : a man who writes product reviews without bias, influence, or financial reward. Inpsiration comes in many forms, and in this case it was a little smokes sausage stuffed with amazingness.

So, sit back and enjoy the first installment of the Unofficial Unpaid Spokesman: Duke’s Edition.

Flavor: Chorizo and Lime

When I saw this bag on the peg at the gas station, there was no way I wasn’t picking it up. After my encounter with the Spicy Hot variety of these little nuggets from heaven, I knew right away that I was already sold and was already pissed that there was only one bag.

Usually I don’t get too excited about a lime flavor with any kind of smoked meat product because it gets laid on thicker than eyeshadow at a 1980’s prom, but with chorizo involved I’m usually game to try just about anything.

The first bite of the sausage immediately took my mind back in time to a dusty little village outside of El Bonito, Mexico. I’d drank enough tequila the night before that I gagged up an agave fond when I woke up. Glancing around my surroundings, I was made aware of the fact that if I didn’t get food in my system very shortly, there was a real chance that I might die of a hangover.

Now, my compadres and I had travelled to this village because of the legendary breakfast tacos that were rumored to be there. They contained the finest meats and were wrapped in a tortilla that had brought more men to religion than gunfights or the scare of erectile dysfunction.

These tortillas were apparently made by an old, blind woman. Who also had no arms. She just head-butted the tortillas flat while her dozens of grandchildren scurried around her like chicklets in a hen house. All of this seemed far-fetched to me, but as I exited our one room shack, there she was, her head flying like the guitarist in a 90’s metal band – the sound of a hard skull pounding flour dough into disks was rolling across the little village like staccato thunderclaps. It was a sound sweeter than church bells.

When I bit into the first chorizo taco I tasted the pride and culture of the Mexican people. I felt their strength. Their endurance. Their ability to carve an existence out of the seemingly life-devoid wastelands around us. The flavors were so incredible. SO vivid. If you had directly injected liquid happiness into each individual taste bud in my head, I don’t know that it would have compared with the flavor of that taco.

THIS is what biting into the Chorizo and Lime Smoke Shorty Sausage was like for me. Damnit, Duke – it’s like you’re in my memories – using my life’s journey to paint your own smoked shorty sausage picture with the joys and sorrows you’ve found there. I’d long since forgotten the little village outside of El Bonita and the armless tortilla woman, but your smoked meat treats have taken me back… thanks, asshole.

Flavor: Cajun style Andouille Sausages:

When I first saw the package for “Cajun style Andouille” Smoked Shorty Sausages, I thought to myself: “That’s a little redundant there, Duke. Andouille sausage is Cajun by definition, and therefore doesn’t need to be expounded on.”

It then occurred to me that Duke sells his sausages all over the country, and some jerkhole up in Maine or some other terrible state might not know that Cajun and Andouille are tied at the hip. Surely, they will know one of those two things: cajun or andouille – and therefore Duke has covered all of his bases. Because that is what Duke does.

NOW, being from Texas, and being an honorary “coon ass” thanks to my gumbo cooking abilities, I know Cajun. I know Andouille. This is going to be a tough sell for me, Duke. I hope you wore your big boy pants when you ground up whatever magic goes into your smoked meat treats.

Upon opening the bag, I immediately took a big whiff of the contents and was not at all disappointed. It smelled Cajun enough. It smelled like I expect a kitchen in a small, out-of-the-way diner in the bayou to smell like. So far so good, Duke.

Then I took a bite…

Unless you’ve had a crawfish head violently gator-tail-slapped out of your mouth while riding on an air boat across a swamp being operated by a man with a double-digit IQ that requires subtitles to communicate with, I don’t know that you’re going to appreciate the level of Louisiana that Duke has managed to cram into a 2-and-a-half-inch smoked sausage.

You’ve done it again, Duke. You’ve taken my doubt and turned it into unrivaled bliss…