Five Degrees of Bacon

My dad was the kind of guy who liked to talk when he went to the bathroom. He would keep the door way too ajar for any of us- letting the gaseous asseous out- or as Mom referred to it the odiferous odor. He would think of something random and call for someone to come to the cracked door to tell all about it. This throne with court is where the idea to use used feminine hygiene products to bait deer was birthed. The problem was it worked. He had his brilliant ideas on the pot and his stupid ones in front of the TV- the Garden Weasel and Magic Chain.

Well, one night dad got hangry, and wanted some soup beans with Jowl Bacon. He hollered for my brother who happened to be hurrying by on the way to his room.

“Hey Luke! Do ya know Jowl Bacon?”

“No, dad. What kind of a car does he drive?“

“No. Jowl Bacon!”

Mom started snickering from her living room perch. Thea was moving closer to the edge of her bed to hear all the better, my dear. I was at my desk doing homework with baited breath waiting to see what would happen next.

“Does Joel come into the store often, dad?”

“No, Jowl Bacon!”

That was it! Thea fell off of her bed with a thud doing her I can’t breathe I am laughing too hard. The pen flew out of my hand as I belly laughed my way to the bed. Mom and her cigarette came into the hallway behind Luke and explained what jowl bacon was. Mom cooked up her beans with jowl bacon that cold to the bone, winter night, and we slept with the windows cracked.

Beans, beans, the magical fruit…

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