(yeah, y'all thought I was through with Baconpunk, didn't you? Fat *snicker!* chance.)
"Fully Cooked, Ready to Eat, 12 Cans per case, 40 to 50 slices per can," 10-yr. shelf life, refrigerate after opening, requires adult supervision, consult your cardiologist before using, and only $109.95!
I swear to you I thought I was through posting Baconpunk links; I really, really did, but damn, dudes and dudettes, this is BACON we're talking about!
Or in this case, Baconhenge.
"Let Baconhenge be the site of your seasonal celebration! Let bacon stand in for the sacrificed Year King, French toast for the Grain Goddess, the eggs in the frittata for the Cosmic Egg, and the vegetables for the bountiful Earth on which we live."
("Mary! He's doing it again! He's posting bacon links!") ("John, shush! If you ignore him maybe he'll just go away--NO! Don't make eye contact! He'll see and then we'll never be rid of him!")
Yessireebob, the Baconpunk wave is cresting and I'm about to surf that sucker headlong into the metaphorical porkcore pilings.
Oh, Crom help me, I keep stumbling across Baconpunk links and my own obsessive need to share them (as in here and here).
I'll start with the Bacon Cups on Not Martha, a how-to for making itty-bitty single-serving bowls o' bacon. We're talking some serious baconporn here even though the author insisted on filling the things with arugula and sliced cherry tomatoes, which is just too damned healthy for my tastes. It's a clever hack that screams for a Scotch egg to achieve maximum cholesterol yumminess and something I'd be more than willing to try if my oven were functional.
Next we have the Bacon Flowchart, which is pretty much self-explanatory and highly amusing in a OMG-This-Is-Too-Close-To-The-Truth kind of way. I need to print this out and laminate it for my kitchen.
I'm having one of those "I just noticed something and now I see it everywhere"* kind of days and, of course, instead of it being something useful and uplifting and enlightening, something guaranteed to end hunger, destroy poverty, bring about world peace, reduce global warming, solve the energy crisis, and build strong bodies twelve ways, it's something entirely trivial.
Well, it's not my fault. A few days ago effin' reddit ran a discussion about interlinking bacon slices (aka "bacon porn" for the obligate carnivores among us) and that led me to all sorts of things I didn't know--like Bacon Salt, "a zero calorie, vegetarian (???!!!), kosher certified (wtf?) seasoning salt that makes everything taste like real bacon"** (with a separate, highly amusing discussion here and the first, only, and, we pray, last appearance on the Intarwebs of the phrase "hippie smegma").
Then, while I'm meditating upon the, uh, appropriateness of making everything taste like bacon, I ran across this: The Ultimate Bacon Sandwich, with loads of NSFV*** pics and links to such culinary monstrosities as Bacon Cereal and the Bacon Cheese Baconburger.
People, I never thought I'd say this, but maybe, just maybe, there's such a thing as too much bacon.
*ponders*
Then again, maybe not.
* There simply has to be some fancy-ass, high-falutin' piece of psychological jargon for this phenomenon but I'll be damned if I know what it is... or even where to start looking.
So in case you hadn't noticed, the Holidailies thing didn't work out for me. It's not for lack of trying; Crom knows I've written hundreds of fantastic posts this month... in my head... but there seems to be a little difficulty in transferring them from cerebral cortex to keyboard and for the life of me I don't know why. Screw it; I'm posting Links of Interest instead.
But, when that quality carbide ball touched the surface of the paper, it was not ink that came out. From a distance I heard the screams of men and the cackling of innumerable ravens. I stopped, cold and sweating profusely. I looked down at the Bic Crystal black medium ballpoint pen which I held in my hand, only to see darkness. I dashed it against the wall, recoiling in horror. I saw in the corner of my eye my faithful notebook, which now lay on the ground. Once unmarred, I saw now the small mark which I had made with the devil's own pen. It spread across the page like a plague, and looking at it I gazed upon true horrors. For, what I thought had been ink was in fact a portal to a dark, unforgiving dimension. A portal whose maw was now widening to engulf all hope and joy in the world.
'God, what have I done?' I exclaimed as I weeped and fell to my knees, 'What have I done?'
From beyond the Dark Gate I heard these words, words which I can never forget. A terrible, booming voice said to me, 'Ia! Ia! Cthulhu Fthagn!'
I ran, blindly stumbling, away from that place and never looked back. My only hope is that none shall follow in the path I've walked down, too blinded by hubris to realize my follies.
Lovecraftian Goodness And speaking of the minions of Cthulhu (or these about to become so... oh, hell; now I've gone and spoiled everything!), there's a new blog in town, The Arkhamist, "Blogging Life in Arkham, Massachusetts." Recent starry-eyed college grad decides to move from Boston to small town, starts job at local paper, documents new life. Things are gonna start happening real soon now. Fun to read, but start with the first post for full effect. Are fictional blogs the new epistolary novel?
Gifty Madness Also seen on Boing Boing, this lovely skull-shaped motorcycle helmet. Probably not DOT-approved, probably not legal in helmet law states, probably not safe at all, but undoubtedly cool and worthy of a place in my skull collection should I ever have a spare $150 or so.
Baconpunkery Continues I've been spending way too much time hanging out on Warren Ellis's fairly frantic Whitechapel discussion board, which is fast and dense and fun and chock full of interesting people and interesting ideas and bizarre-ass topics and y'all should just hie your butts on over there and check it out and not make any comments about my obviously caffeine-induced run-on sentencery.
*A reference wasted on those of you unfamiliar with the Fox Movietone newsreels of the 'Thirties and 'Forties, standard time filler for television stations of the early 'Sixties.
**I've been informed recently that Warren merely adopted the term "baconpunk;" the word's true origin and meaning can be found here in Baconpunk: All Hail Our Fried, Greasy Master.
Middle-aged Otaku, that is, a "pathological techno-fetishist with social deficit" (Gibson, 1996), in constant search of amusement and his next Aspergerian perseveration.
