I’m So Mad About This Bacon
Here's a life lesson from a guy that has been around the block more than twice.
There are a few things you should never cheap-out on. Good shoes and bacon come to mind.
This week, I bought bacon so bad that I wrote a strongly worded letter to the company. It was THAT bad. It was so bad that I couldn't move on with my life until I took 10 minutes to locate their website, find an email address and compose a complaint.
It was so bad that I wanted my money back. Not because I desperately need that $7 but because it is a matter of principle.
If I said to you, "Hey, if you give me $7, I will provide you with delicious bacon!" and you then said, "That sounds wonderful!" and proceeded to pay me for said bacon...
...and then I gave you a pound of shrink-wrapped, bloated pork fat...
...you would kick me square in the nuts and take your $7 back.
And I would deserve it.
This bacon was so bad, that the pig that gave its life to produce it is embarrassed in the pig afterlife.
My dog didn't want this bacon. My dog eats EVERYTHING. Including his bed.
He took one sniff and then gave me a look that clearly said, "No. Thanks, man. I'm good."
The quality inspector that gave this bacon a thumbs up should be fired and then filmed as he is forced to trudge home to his trailer and deliver the bad news to his drunk wife and 5 unwashed children. His wife should then throw him out and he should be forced to live in his truck. That video should then go viral and the world should collectively point and laugh at him, assuring that he will never again be allowed to assess the quality of bacon.
This bacon was so bad that I took the time to write this article about it.
I'm supposed to be cleaning my carpets right now. But that can wait because I'm so mad about this bacon.
Instead of taking care of household chores, I am presently hunched over my keyboard, thrashing out an angry treatise on the perils of bacon selection. This bacon pissed me off that much.
If the company that produces this bacon were to export it to even our closest allies, it would spark another world war. The insult upon their culture and the sacred tradition of breakfast would be that great. The U.N. wouldn't even intervene.
This bacon was an affront to humanity.
I won't even name the company that made it. Not for fear of legal retribution but because I'm concerned that I may pique someone's curiosity to the point of thinking, "Ok, well now, I have to see just how bad this bacon really is."
I am worried that they will then laughingly purchase the bacon and, upon discovering that I am not in the least bit exaggerating its poor quality, fly into a blind rage and do something terrible to their pets or neighbors.
This would then spark a chain reaction of others buying the bacon and the country will be plunged into anarchy. God forbid, should Donald Trump supporters try this bacon, their rage would then become so unstoppable, martial law would be declared and our American streets would be safe for no one.
So terrible was this bacon, I may now spend my spare time at the neighborhood market advising my fellow citizens from purchasing it for the greater good.
I will just stand in the meat department and wait for the inevitable.
"You don't want that bacon."
"Yes. Now, go hug your children. You have averted disaster on this day."
"Thank...thank you, kind stranger."
"Just doing my duty."
Upon hearing of my selfless acts of bacon-rage aversion, the mayor will give me a medal.
I will say this much: this bacon was made in Ohio. And I never much liked Ohio.
Anyway, I'm going to clean my carpets now.
May your next breakfast be better than mine.