This country is in dire need of — and I think we can all agree on this — more ways to eat bacon. (If you thought I was going to say "alternative sources of energy" or "more reruns of Mystery Science Theatre 3000 on TV, you get partial credit.)
But ever since the American pioneers invented bacon in the 1800s as a means to mail pigs through the postal system one strip at a time, we as a country have lived by bacon fat and, more accurately, died by bacon fat. It may be the only food in the world that is imagined as a straight line when ordered but arrives in the shape of a rubbery, cholestorolic 'Z' — and we are even more pleased.
So we've asked our scientists to put that whole "global warming" thing on hiatus and give us some more ways to enjoy our ultimate demise.
But many over the years have failed.
In the early days of America, the fabled Johnny Baconseed attempted to sow the earth with "bits of bacon" in the area known then as "The Wisconsin Bay of Green" but known today as simply "Milwaukee." The bacon trees did not last long in the harsh winter climate. Plus the trees quickly died of heart failure.
During the Cold War, engineers in an abandoned Waffle House began devising "nuclear baconfare." The concept was to deploy this monstrosity onto the Kremlin so that the fiendish Russkies would know just how much we love free markets and blocked arteries.
Then, during the dot-com boom, the popular Web site tastybacononline.com charged people $4.95 a month to bring up a picture of freshly cooked bacon and subscribers could lick their computer screens to taste it. After 1507 people died of electric shock, tastybacononline.com was forced to pay the families of the 1506 victims a hefty cash settlement (the 157th person was coincidentally shot by a burglar while he was surfing the side then fell into his computer screen, so in that case they couldn't prove tasty negligence.)
It's clear that these entirely accurate accounts of bacon history — might I remind you that they actually happened and weren't conjured up by any late nights of guzzling Pepsi One while stranded in Indiana — are proof that we had the desire but not the innovation to improve bacon.