And the winners are…
And now, without further ado, I announce the winners of the Great Bacontest (goddamn you Matt.)
Best In Show (and winner of the gorgeous Bacon Bag you see here):
This was a tough one. Really tough. By the skin of his teeth, and because he rhymed Cheryl, it’s PIG DIDDY (feat. Mary J. Swine) with this stirring entry:
Bacon (I Gotsa Have It)
(wha? wha?)
Ah yeah
I don’t mean to be frontin’
But I can’t take all the gruntin’
Ain’t no pig on my fork?
Yo, I wig out like Bjӧrk
Get mad buzz in my nizzle
When I sniff on that sizzle
Now we all gon’ get jiggy
On the taste of that piggy
Piggy. (Wha?) Piggy. (Wha?) Gimme summa that bacon, son
Little pig, can’t you see
That when you are wi’ me
There gon’ be “Wee Wee Wee”
All the way home, my baby
I love you for real
I’m all over that squeal
Now be part of my meal
Before you go and congeal
Piggy. (Wha?) Piggy. (Wha?) Gimme summa that bacon, son
Maple smoked or low salt
Shorty, it ain’t your fault
Can’t take all the beauty
In that big, meaty booty
Don’t care if it’s gristle
I’ll suck it up like a Bissel
I may sound like I’m feral
But I love bacon, Cheryl!
Pig withdrawal has me SHAKIN’
Skin & bones like Clay AIKEN
You know I ain’t FAKIN’
MY MAD LOVE FOR YOU, BACON.
Yeah. Wha? No, seriously. What?
Next up is the old skool poems.
Best Traditional Poem (a set of parking cards): PIG LEAR! with a naughty old limerick
There once was a pig from Nantucket
Who kicked the proverbial bucket
It’s too bad he died
But now he can be fried
You can buy a good cut from Pete Luckett
And certainly not least in any sense, we have the hipsters with
Best New Style Poem (a set of four greeting cards): ALLEN OINKBERG! with this tense, salt filled new classic
Drool
I saw the best minds of my generation drooling at the scent, starving, hysterical, hungry.
CrawlIng from diner to dinette set, their bellies distended.
Scraggly hipsters burning for the smoky, salty heavenly strips on a late Saturday morning stumble.
Pale digital cyborgs, hollow eyed and obsessive, fashioning gifs of dancing animorphic rashers.
Barbeque dads on angel quests to make the perfect tender burnt offerings to prove their love.
Extreme foodies constructing bacon forts and gorging themselves past the point of pleasure to the waking nightmare of too full for more.
Amateur gormands haunted by attempts at home curing, debating the merits of bourbon vs whiskey chips for subtlety of taste.
Always on a Sunday, the bruncheries are filled, the masses chanting more bacon, more bacon, more coffee…frenzied flickering of fingers, tongues, desperate to grasp the last morsel.
Smoky. Salty. Tender. Bacon.
But every damn poem that was entered was so good, that I’ve decided EVERYONE GETS A PRIZE! (unless you entered multiple poems and already won in a category. In that case, calm down you greedy wee monkey!)
Yes. So winners, all of you who entered, please email me your real name (with your pig names so I can figure out who is who here) with your mailing addresses and prizes will be distributed to everyone.
My thanks to all the poets who took time out from their busy lives of staring wistfully out coffee shop windows to drop an entry here.
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The Daily Mail nails it.
A new feature on the blog where I pluck some of the best of the best from the Daily Mail’s photos and their captions.
We start this off with, well, who gives a shit really who she is. Some reality TV show drama queen in a show down with her fellow.
I give you the picture:
The caption: “Gutted: Gemma is visibly upset as Charlie tells her they’re finished.”
Read MoreHungry for the Hippo.
I try not to be an overly wanty person. I live in a small space and it gives me the opportunity to think about the acquisition of new items for our home. If something comes in, something generally has to go out. We just don’t have the space – and that’s a good thing, I think.
So understanding that, let me say that I would burn everything I have in my living room right now to have this:
Don’t judge. Just imagine the cocktail parties I will throw.
Read MoreHave you met Deborah?
I’ve been in love with her for a few years.
She’s a product of John Robert’s marvellous mind. His mom is kinda special, too.
Read More
Mugs, bags, and more
