After a sincere week-long search, I’ve concluded that throughout the history of mankind, there has been a distinct lack of bacon poetry.*
This terrible oversight must be addressed. Right now.
With a contest.
Serious, fun, crunchy, yummy, pig to plate or—in the case of reversibles—plate to pig.
Share ’em in the comments or e-mail ’em to me if you’re shy or you rhyme pig product with something you wouldn’t want your parents to read.**
If your name is drawn, you get the regular-sized mug of your choice from Cafepress—or an equivalent gift card, if you would prefer not to provide your mailing address.
E-mail me any questions or put ’em in the comments.
You have from now until Monday at midnight.
Go forth and baconate.***
*As opposed to the poetry of Francis Bacon, which could use, in my restless opinion of the moment, more pig and less piety.
**Or you wouldn’t want my parents sharing with all their friends. Kevin.
*** If you need any ideas, try the Bacon Today site. I mean, I like bacon, obviously, but these people? They revere it.