Nothing in this the world is made worse by putting bacon on it.
Burger King realized this. It’s just come out with a 510-calorie bacon sundae. That’s the best news this week. John Edwards is off the hook. The Germans found a mysterious boy in the forest. Jamie Dimon is testifying. The world is pretty much continuing its slow progress to Hell in a handbasket.
But this summer, Burger King will make you a bacon sundae. For just 510 calories! That’s fewer than literally any salad available at TGI Friday’s, once you take dressing into account.
Bacon is proof the gods love us and want us to be happy. You never see people waxing lyrical about celery. But bacon. Chocolate bacon. Bacon, ba-con, light of my life, fire of my loins.
Limp salad? Put bacon on it. Limp sandwich? Put bacon on it. The love of your life left you, your dog died, and people won’t stop buying 50 Shades of Grey? Put bacon on it.
Whenever I see happy couples in engagement shots, gazing into the camera with eyes full of loving hope, I know what makes them look that way: they are thinking about bacon. Edward Munch’s The Scream is a portrait of a man who was just informed that he had run out of bacon.
You never see a man standing on a bridge screaming that he hates the world and is about to end it all with bacon in his hand. No, bacon improves everything. The only way to improve Shakespeare? Attribute his works to Francis Bacon.
Some people see history as a series of unfortunate events. I see it as the desperate actions of people who should have been eating more bacon. Most historical malefactors have the look of sufferers from indigestion. Take a look at Savonarola and tell me that man enjoyed a good breakfast. And see what happened! He could not enjoy a nice fried slice of bacon in the morning and had to resort to book burnings.
Bacon comes in all kinds: Smoked; Oscar Mayered; Canadian. The addition of the word “Canadian” to bacon does to bacon what the addition of the word “Canadian” always does to everything. “A rock band is coming!” someone shouts. A stampede begins. “A Canadian rock band.” “Ah.” The crowd disperses. I don’t know why this is; it just is.
You know that bacon is good because they serve it to you at breakfast. Breakfast is sheer bribery. “If you make it out of bed before noon,” it says, “look at this smorgasbord of caloric delights!” But bacon transcends breakfast. They start offering it to you in the morning and do not stop offering it to you until the dessert course has been cleared away.
Some people eat everything with moderation. Other people eat everything with bacon. The first people are skinnier, but the second people are happier.
If loving bacon is a disease, I don’t want to be cured. I know the passion is fatal. You never read interviews with hundred year-old men who inform you that their secret to longevity was eating a pound of bacon every day. But where’s the fun in being a hundred years old, if bacon is denied you?
No, it’s better with bacon.