Bacon shaving cream

The joke, never quite funny, and already taken too far, now takes on a more sinister edge. We are now trapped in our bacon future. Everything smells dead, salty, crispy. Nothing is untainted by the scent, the texture, the colors of hog-drippings. The animals eat our trash, and we eat them, and we are the trash. “Throw us away,” we shout in unison, and history obliges.