Update: Behold, The BA-zooka; summer sausage rocket launcher...
The fat mans cheery grin is belayed by the hunger in his eyes. The bright colors of his jacket and tribal insignia shine in the reflected light of a thousand blazing suns as they flutter in the cosmic winds he rides. He steers his monstrous winged steed across the star-splashed void of outer space, and in the beasts bloody talons are clutched their precious prey, the creature freshly slaughtered and borne now to its final doom, as fated as the debauched revelry and ritual towards which the smiling Nazgul butcher rides with such glee.
Bacon Day
The natural hog-affinities of my hometown have come come together with the Bacon Meme and produced this event: a pure and simple celebration of the belly of the beast, and a seed of what will one day surely become a religion.
“I swore to everyone who helped me prepare the AT-AT that I would never make anything like that again” Hamon said. “I guess a year is enough time to forget the bacon cooking madness that happened.”
“I’m incredibly apprehensive about the complexity of the piece this time around. Right now, it’s not going to be any smaller than last year, but I do plan on cooking the bacon outside, so that will definitely be a little less stressful,” he said. “I’ll be under more of a time crunch this year, since I won’t be in town until (the weekend of the event). Fortunately, the bulk of the work always gets done the night before in a sleepless haze.”
A sleepless haze indeed. A haze of fat-smoke and hog-grease fog that seizes some, like this poor bastard, with a zealous intensity, compelling them to work strange works for reasons they do not understand. In the grip of a Meat Madness the construction of scale model robots out of processed pork products can seem not only reasonable but necessary. In a strange loop of culinary/art illogic, Bacon becomes the excuse for still More Bacon.
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