“Vegetarian bacon” – It’s pretty much impossible to pair those two words without coming across as a total asshole. There is nothing remotely vegetable-like about fatty, greasy, salty, smokey flesh cut from a glassy-eyed pig corpse. Vegetables are bright, wholesome, fibrous, and full of life. The pinkish-brown bacon unapologetically spits in the face of all that while clogging one’s arteries and donkey punching the heart. It’s an affront to vegetarianism, and everything it stands for. That said, why the hell, may I ask, do so many people who claim that it’s morally repugnant/unacceptably unhealthy for humans to eat animals, find solace in stuffing their faces with bizarre faux meat concoctions that, after being injected with a multitude of artificial ingredients, are often indistinguishable in taste, odor, and appearance, from the real thing? I can’t help but think of a sanctimonious pervert lounging in a ramshackle whorehouse with his ancient Polaroid camera. While other customers come and go, picking and choosing from an array of crusty prostitutes before disappearing into dark corridors, he sits on his ass, snapping photos of the scantily clad women as they pass him by. “I can’t fuck you, you dirty whore,” he says to each of them. “That would be immoral. That would be wrong. Instead, I’m going to masturbate to these photos. But that’s ok, you see, because they’re only pictures. They aren’t the real thing.” Vegetarian bacon.