Never Let A Vegan Hippie Cook Your Bacon

Oh my sweet lord...I'm fucking sick. Not just any old sick. I'm talking about a "spine-tingling, hot/cold sweats, poopade coming out one end, projectile vomitous mixture coming out the other, dillusionally crying for my mommy, how many shots of a nyquil/pepito cocktail can I consume to end it all, telling J-man where momma put her precious jewels that you weren't supposed to know about until you found the right woman which in my book will be never so you mine as well be a priest" kinda sick. And you know why? Because you should never, ever eat bacon cooked by a vegan hippie. Here's what happened.

So I decided it was time to turn over a new leaf. Find a new calling. And since I have an apparent allergy to working out and eating healthy (remember, I laugh hysterically when someone mentions I should do so? Medical allergic reaction, look it up.), I thought a great alternative would be to start writing. And not just sitting at home eating minty bon-bons, sipping the sweet nectar from the Napa Valley of Youth (of the white sparkling wine varietal) kind of writing, but the sit in a community-focused, tree-hugging, change the world hippie coffee shop kind of writing. I was out to write some shit. Do some shit. Make people get off their asses and scream 'I'm mad as hell and I'm not gonna take it anymore!' kinda shit.

So there I was...in the patchouli den of inspiration (or perhaps perspiration is more accurate) staring up at the chalkboard of hippie delights. Tofu quiche. Egg White Delight. Hemp Lemon Grass Morning Elixir. Mother Moon Pies. And suddenly I thought, Lady Crazy Pants, perhaps you should go to the Denny's down the street, get yourself a Grand Slam and come back for the literary lovefest that you are about to bestow upon the world. But then...I saw it. Every meat lover's delight...bacon. And I was like HOT DAMN, me and the hippies can get along! So I ordered that and the hyrdo-colonic grown potatoes and sat down to begin my writing greatness.

About 10 minutes and two words later (writing is hard) my food arrived. Or I should say my plate of half-cooked leper skin and four potato bits arrived. I looked at it and the Hippie Delivery Man and said

Crazy: Oh honey, this ain't done.

Hippie Delivery: It's not?

Crazy: No. See that, that right there...that's pig still talking to me.

Hippie: Oh, I see...

We both look at it.

Crazy: So you mean..."you see" that it's still moving? Or "you see" that you're going to put it back on the grill and crisp it up a bit?

Hippie: (Wringing his hands) Well, that's how we do our bacon here.

Crazy: You do your bacon like you're feeding people mad cow disease? Cause I don't know if you know, but there's this thing called Tricanosis. Or Trycansosis. Or some shit like that, but it can kill people. Uncooked pork, my friend.

Hippie: Well, I can certainly take it back, but it will be about 10 minutes to put it back on the grill. We don't usually do a lot of meat products on it.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? Then why? Why why why...WHY would you put BACON on your menu? Are you purposely trying to kill meat people??? Do you think that you Hippie coffee shop people are just SO clever that if we meat lovers don't subscribe to your PETA like mentality that you're willing to put the shit on your menu and then say 'Oh we're SO sorry that, you...meat lover...know SO much about the proper handling of meat, but since you've already paid for it you're going to eat it the way we prepared it because you're a dirty meat eater!' Bait and switch is what that is. Bait and switch, bitch!

But I was hungry. So I ate it. And look where it got my dumb ass. Stupid hippies.