This past Sunday was Fathers Day. I’m not sure if that shit has gone viral and all of the world does it or how it works so if I am stating a really obvious fact maybe, before you start writing your local MP about some ignorant dick from outback Austraaaalia, just chill the fuck out, sit back in your comfy chair with a nice big pile of 1970’s midget porn and a bottle of your mums best hand moisturiser and sort yourself out. And just remember; I don’t care if you think I’m stupid because you’re ugly and at least I can fix stupid… wait… errrr… ugly… umm… stupid can’t be fixed can it? Dammit!
So Fathers Day it was and I arrived, a year since we last celebrated this occasion, with two children still intact and accounted for. Magic. Always a good start.
They showered me with hand written cards stating that I was the best dad ever, and also and array of bacon based paraphernalia. What more could a man want? What’s that? A slap a dinner of pork belly with coleslaw and potato salad? Sure thing. That sounds like a truly effing great fitting finish to a great day. Which leads me, somewhat poorly, into a short story about my friend bacon.
It was a glorious day for all humanity the day that bacon was discovered, fantastic for the people but not so good for the pig. The pig was most likely previously left to its own devices, maybe even living amongst the human man as a companion, a friend. Maybe the pig was named Arthur. They would read books, go out for coffee and go for long walks on the beach together. At the time it was harmless fun but this seemingly harmless leisure time activity would spell the end for the ungodly relationship between man and pig and the beginning of breakfasts of bacon and what would become its new best friend, the egg. Lunches of bacon butties, crisp bacon in salads or maybe a nice steak wrapped in bacon. And dinner? Well dinner my friends, was more of the same. Yes it was unfortunate for our porcine friends that they had begun to “cure” themselves after many swims in the salty ocean “brine”. Then drying off the pig had inadvertently started to “cook” itself after falling asleep under the midday sun. The poor piggy awoke to the horrible shock of his longtime friend, Geoffrey, slicing him up for mans first bacon feast.
Since that day bacon has fed kings and queens, porters and paupers, white, black, jungle bunny and gigolo. It has bridged the language gap and crossed cultural borders, wars have been reasoned and solved with the help of a slice of bacon in the belly, many pages of the history books of the world have been written with pen in one hand and bacon in the other, bacon has been buried in time capsules and sent to the furthest reaches of our known universe in the hope that it will attract alien interest and to prove to them that we have some kind of intelligence going on.
In conclusion I would just like to say bacon is really good.
I like bacon and my children.