I’m a carnivwhore, which is two things: first, it’s a pun. But it’s also a great way to describe those of us out there who think meat is better than anything else this life has to offer, even the love of the Baby Jesus. In fact, if you sprinkled some Lawry’s on the Baby Jesus and set him out in the sun...look out. I love all meats, even the buche and the tripe. But why drive an Escort when you could clog your arteries with the Ferrari of the flesh: bacon. Face it, bacon is at the top of the meat-heap and it always will be, which is why people love putting it in or around anything they can. Those cash-thirsty corporate vampires know that bacon is pure opium to the fat kid masses. And it only takes a few of us chubdumpsters to form a mass. Seriously, if you put bacon on something, I will eat that new bacon-infused combination. Think not? Try me, hippie. Burger? Yawn. Shoelaces? Sure. The cat? Now you’re talking. And I’m certainly not alone; Los Angeles is absolutely bonkers for bacon. There’s the bacon donut at the Nickel Diner, the maple-bacon lollipop (okay, it’s in San Fran, but I’m sure it’s worth the drive for fresh bacon lollies). And don’t forget the ubiquitous bacon-wrapped hotdog, the street cart staple of the City of Angels.

Some of you may be asking: why bacon? My answer is to punch you in your vagina with a fist full of salty pork sides. Hopefully, you’ll become so bacon-permeated you’ll start to get the picture. Bacon isn’t just the answer to the breakfast question, it’s the answer to EVERY question. I wrote in ‘pork fat’ for President, haters. Try to think of a product that bacon doesn’t make better. Sandwiches? Popcorn? I put three pounds of bacon in my gas tank and my car had a heart attack. At least I know it went out with pride and glory. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night with the meat sweats; luckily the shade on my lamp gives off the unmistakably greasy glow of bacon, so I pull off a little slab and settle back into bed. Consider all of you Food Network assholes on notice as of this writing (except you Paula Deen, you sexy meat maven). You need to get your chubby, old-ass heads together and wow me with a bacon delicacy worthy enough to shorten my life. Fuck this lollipop / donut shit, I want you to figure out how to get it inside my fruit or start feeding it to cows to make bacon milk. Until then, I’ll be over here downing some meatshakes, waiting for the next big bacon thing. Make it happen.

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