Bacon is, itself, a religion. Complete with rites of preparation (the delicate laying of the slabs upon the searing hot pan), sermons (WOOO, BACON!!), idols of worship (the bacon itself), and a caste hierarchy of theocracy (the BLT, the bacon-fried eggs, the bacon sundae, the bacon-beef-breakfast, the breakfast sammich, etc).
And this religion is superior to all because unlike most other religions, bacon does not pretend to hide from consumerism; bacon requires money for its grace, but it is a small price indeed for the comfort of the sizzling, succulent treat. And it is always there when you need it. It answers your cries of hunger with its smoky, rich smell that permeates your home, gracing it with its holy olfactory presence, and your tastebuds with its mouth-watering flavor. It fills your stomach, not as a rock, nor as a piece of bread, but as only bacon can; with satisfaction.
All hail the mighty swine-cuts! For they are our prophets of joy in these darkened days!
And this religion is superior to all because unlike most other religions, bacon does not pretend to hide from consumerism; bacon requires money for its grace, but it is a small price indeed for the comfort of the sizzling, succulent treat. And it is always there when you need it. It answers your cries of hunger with its smoky, rich smell that permeates your home, gracing it with its holy olfactory presence, and your tastebuds with its mouth-watering flavor. It fills your stomach, not as a rock, nor as a piece of bread, but as only bacon can; with satisfaction.
All hail the mighty swine-cuts! For they are our prophets of joy in these darkened days!
