I Want to Tame a Centaur (and Other Bacon-Related Thoughts)

In this world, there are things.

Some of them are bad, some of them are awesome and some of them smell/taste like bacon.

Those things are usually in the awesome category. As a vegetarian, I’ll take any chance I can get to smell/taste bacon without eating the real thing. For example, bacon beer. I would totally try bacon beer. In fact, I am willing to bet that the advent of bacon beer would mark the end of productivity for our society. Bacon-flavored condoms? That would probably be the best blow-job-getting strategy ever because they taste like bacon and they have no calories. Everyone wins in that situation. I might be wrong, but I’m pretty sure that bacon-flavored condoms would also lead to complete stasis in whatever place they originate first. I’m guessing either Germany or Japan.

But bacon can’t just be mixed all willy-nilly with everything. Baconnaise should never have happened.

As I was saying, there are certain things that exist in the world that every person enjoys. Like….

Chicken Skin

One of the most sacred moments in anyone’s food life is one in which there is anticipation and/or ingestion of chicken skin. When you are holding that paper-thin flap of greasy yet crispy integument, nothing else matters. Chicken skin could stop a war. Well, it could at least delay a war by about 15 seconds. Once everyone got to the part where they actually had to eat a skinless drumstick, they’d go right back to bombing and pillaging. Personally, I don’t crave meat – but I will daydream about munching on chicken skin… which suddenly sounds so cannibalistic. Awesome.


How sad were you the day you found out that you weighed too much to go into the giant, inflatable bouncy castle? I bet that’s how anorexia starts. One moment you’re bouncing away your worries inside the inflatable castle in your kindergarten pal’s circus-themed birthday party, and the next you’re on a glucose drip, you’ve lost your hair, and you almost don’t have enough energy to be enthusiastic about the idea of birthdays or bouncy castles anymore.

The first person who makes a bouncy castle that is built to withstand the rigors of being repeatedly bludgeoned by overly enthusiastic obese people will be a billionaire. Dibs.

In the meantime, next time you are feeling down, go jump on your bed. I’m totally serious. Go jump on your bed and see if you still feel bad. If nothing else the idea of jumping on a bed while crying irrationally should at least make you laugh.

If you can’t bring yourself to jeopardize the integrity of your mattress, go to the thrift store and buy a cheap mattress that you won’t feel bad about destroying during your moments of unrestrained glee. Keep it in your garage or basement. I promise that your life will be better.

If you have a memory foam mattress, give up. Life is pointless now. You should have thought of that before you threw your life down the river by buying a mattress without springs.


This one is very subtle, but I am convinced that it happens to nearly everyone. Next time you are using a mouse with a designated right-click button, notice the way you feel just before you get to right-click something. There is an almost imperceptible little celebration that happens.

The Last Bite of a Waffle

You know the bite I am talking about. The one that is approximately three squares by two squares and it’s stuffed like a turkey with butter and holy goodness. Not only that, but the waffle has been marinating in your desired toppings of choice for the duration of breakfast, making for one final glorious bite.

People say that there is no way to explain love and that makes me sad because obviously these people have never eaten a waffle or at least not a waffle with real butter and syrup and that is a tragedy. Either that or they have never experienced love, which is almost as sad. Almost.

The Toy Aisle

There is a distinct feeling I get every time I pass the toy aisle at Wal-Mart or something. It’s like if you were engaged to marry the man or woman of your dreams then suddenly decided that you needed to take a plane to Pittsburgh and the plane crashed and everyone died except for you and you walked away from the incident as a double above-the-knee amputee but the person you had loved is prejudiced against disabled people and he leaves you for a sexy centaur and you somehow end up attending the same PTA meetings and all you can do is look across the room at your ex-fiance you’re still in love with and the centaur and think, “I used to be so happy…”

That’s how the toy aisle at Wal-Mart makes me feel.

Sometimes, when I buy a toy, I get a feeling like walking across the room to the centaur and saying, “HA! I’ve had legs the whole time and I was never a double amputee and I don’t actually have to win back my ex-fiance because he still loves me”, and then he and I tame the centaur and keep it as a pet and it isn’t even mad at me because I give it bacon beer all the time and centaurs love bacon beer.

This may be the best thing I have ever written.
I had more ideas, but I think I’m just going to end it with that.

Oh, and a picture of what came up on Google after typing in “sexy centaur”:

I can has sexiness?


2 thoughts on “I Want to Tame a Centaur (and Other Bacon-Related Thoughts)

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