So the other day, whilst enjoying the large, juicy BLT sandwich of my friendly neighborhood café, I was approached by Ryan and asked "What would you, an obvious bacon lover, do had you been born Jewish? You see, my friend, bacon is pork, the forbidden delight of our Semetic compatriots. But do you, do you appreciate the gravity of this question, friend? -for I am asking you to choose: your god or your sandwich." He spoke with such dazed insistency that I lowered BLT from a poised tongue, peered deeply therein; Truly, I thought, Ryan has raised an important question, one that - for the sake of existential tenability - - I should probably consider without further delay.
I thanked him and finished my BLT soon thereafter.
I love bacon, after all. That's what I concluded: I love bacon, and I'd be damned if I let my ethos, any ethos - whatever it be, however many thousands of years of tradition and trial - I'll be damned if I let my ethos run its grubby fingers over those mouthwatering strips of bubbling pigfat. So you present me with a choice, eh, Ryan? The darkest of Sheol's inky pits or bacon's warm caress? Well, let me tell you, Ryan, let me tell you: I wouldn't hesitate, not for a second, to douse my head in the scalding run-off of newly-dished baconjuice - even if it meant facing the eternal greasefires. For Bacon is my ethos, Pigfat my lord, veganism my hell - and let it be heard, let it trumpet, resound from family dinnertable to the most remote Asian sty: I LOVE BACON