the most terrifying ten seconds in the lifetime of the Johnsons' dog, Barnaby

Only one thing smells like bacon, and that's bacon. Of course. But there's something about this bacon that seems... diabolical. I don't know why I'm letting it get to me; I mean, you look up bacon lover in the dictionary and there's a picture of me, but somehow I don't trust this stuff.

It's as if it wasn't bacon at all. Maybe it's because it's gummy and that's a little off for bacon. Also, do the Johnsons get their own bacon out of a bag like this, god, if I could only remember! This is bothering me, but there's no one I can ask.

Just as well, since the implications of a false, bacon-like substance are too staggering to contemplate. If the Johnsons know this isn't actually bacon, what is it? Is this happening to others? Are there even more things that aren't what they seem to be? If this isn't bacon, the web of conspiracy would wrap around my entire reality; I'd be like a fly drowning in ink, helpless and totally alone. Is it getting cold in here? The thought of it... AH! what's the matter with me right now? Boy oh boy do I love bacon.


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