![]() ![]() She frets that she’s being punished by the gods: She and Frank stuck their little gloved hands out of their respective packaging and “touched tips,” and she figures the gods are disappointed with her sexual exploration. We learn that the whole rumor of the Great Beyond was created by some imperishable, “immortal” foodstuffs (a bottle of booze named Fire Water, a box of Grits, and-naturally-an eternal Twinkie) to make things more cheerful in the supermarket.īrenda, meanwhile, clings to her conviction that the Great Beyond is a good place. The “gods” are cruel and vicious entities who (naturally) eat food. Sausage Party is an anti-religious parable masquerading as a comedic sex cartoon.įrank discovers that the Great Beyond ain’t so great. Even as Brenda pleads with him to get back in his package and stop angering the gods, the hunk o’ prepackaged pork begins a quest for the truth, even if it costs him his meaty byproduct soul. What could possibly turn a jar of honey mustard suicidal? Is it possible he grew confused and mistook himself for die-jon mustard? Or did he see something-something horrible, something unspeakable-that caused him to reevaluate his belief in the Great Beyond?įrank, being an inquisitive sort of sausage, is determined to find out. In fact, when he and Frank wind up in the same cart, the jar of honey mustard decides to kill himself-leaping from the cart and smashing onto the tile floor below. ![]() They even have a catchy little song about it that they sing each morning.īut when a container of honey mustard returns from the Great Beyond, he is less than thrilled about the experience he’s had. This is the dream of all food, apparently. But most importantly, Frank hopes to be taken home by one of the store’s visiting “gods,” to be placed in a cart and wheeled out to the Great Beyond-a place where all worries and cares will vanish and he’ll be in the presence of some benevolent, denim-wearing deity. He wants to get cozy with Brenda, the cute little bun next door. Seems like even sentient sausages, blessed with thoughts and feelings of their own, would still need some sort of tutor for that.)īut Frank, being the sentient sausage he is, still has dreams. ![]() (Frankly, I don’t even know how he or the other sausages learned to speak English. He’s lived his entire life in a plastic package, sitting on a grocery store shelf with other sausages. Let’s face it: If you’re food, you don’t get out much. ![]()
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