Why You're Here:

You've said to yourself, "beauty walks a razor's edge, someday I'll make it mine."

You've often thought about what it would have been like to drop acid with Groucho Marx.

You know that until you measure it, an electron is everywhere, and your mind reels at the implications.

You'd like to get drunk on the wine from my sweet, sweet mind grapes.

Sunday, August 30, 2009

Teen Wolf: The New Bacon

Everybody knows Bacon is dangerously overexposed. Everywhere you look there's another paparazzi photo of Bacon, sloppily infusing a vodka being guzzled down by the newest heartthrob on the CW. Bacon, no matter how tasty, so rich in savory-sweet goodness, barely on the pan or burnt to a crisp, uh, yeah, Bacon has jumped the shark.  It's only a matter of time before Bacon goes into rehab Farmer John and comes out Sizzlean

Fear not, for this is an opportunity!

Back when everybody knew how awesome Bacon was, but nobody had to be all show-off-y about it, it was a simple pleasure. On your burger. With your eggs, Headlining for the LT's (what do you suppose they're up to now that Bacon's left them behind?), eaten by the pound all by itself (or is that just me?)

Now crazy fools are making bacon shoes and bacon bras and stupid shit like that. All for a few hits on their FaceSpace page and some internet dollars. Sullying Bacon's good name for their own tawdry agendas. Feh!

No more!

Like the savvier members of our military, I, too, have learned the lessons of Vietnam and Iraq. You want to win, you've got to fight asymmetrically.

So, Teen Wolf. That's right, Teen Wolf.

Teen Wolf is The New Bacon.

Just like Bacon, people know how awesome it is. That's well-settled fact. Just like Bacon, you can watch Teen Wolf morning, noon or night.

Bacon has the bacon bra, Teen Wolf can give you bootleg t-shirts.  Bacon-infused vokda? It's no smash dance sensation--make that a hipster-certified smash dance sensation. Gourmet bacon chocolate? Surfing atop the Wolfmobile. Bacon has Kevin Bacon. Teen Wolf has Boof.

You get the idea. It's high time to launch some other greasy, high-calorie, goes-with-anything treat into the pop culture stratosphere to knock Bacon off its perch. The Time for Wolf is now.

And yea, though the Hindus speak of karma, I implore you: give Bacon a break. Let Teen Wolf into your life. Embrace it. Quote it liberally, so that others may quote it illiberally.  May Coach Bobby Finstock's Three Rules* spread like the internet wildfire that was Chuck Norris. May craven obsessives pervert its form while they wring riches from its downy pelt.

The sooner this day comes, the sooner "Bacon" can return to being "bacon" and regain the quiet, sizzling dignity it had in your youth. And in your mouth.


*"There are three rules that I live by: never get less than twelve hours sleep; never play cards with a guy who has the same first name as a city; and never get involved with a woman with a tattoo of a dagger on her body. Now you stick to that, and everything else is cream cheese."

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