Hold The Lettuce And Tomato – And Double The Bacon
It’s true and we all know it: Anything’s better with bacon. “Bacon is Meat Candy,” bacon is the ambrosia of pork and a million other accolades — they’re all true, and some people don’t just indulge and enjoy, they positively revel in it. Some say the only problem with bacon is you can’t take it with you. But wait: There’s a company in Seattle determined to solve that problem for you.
Caskets and condiments may not sound like a natural combination, but in a way, J & D’s Foods might be the most qualified people around to develop the Bacon Coffin. They are the inventors and developers of Bacon Salt and Baconnaise, and they know what their most loyal customers like.
The casket is not really made of bacon, but it is molded and finished to look as though it was crafted from beautiful crispy bacon strips, and of course, the plush interior is bacon-scented. There’s even a sealed “bacon memorial tube” included so the dear departed has his or her favorite treat handy for munching on “the other side.”
The Bacon Coffin lists for $2,999, plus shipping, and they’re selling like, well … bacon. You can stock a couple of ’em right behind your “hog hunter” rifles.
We Miss The Little Things Sometimes
If Krystle Marie Reyes, a 25-year-old woman from Salem, Ore., had not first been greedily larcenous, then negligent, and then stupid, she might have gotten away with the biggest — or biggest known — tax fraud in Oregon history. But since greed, larceny, negligence and stupidity kinda go hand in hand, we’re not surprised she was caught.
First, she used TurboTax to report $3 million in taxed earnings on her 2011 tax returns, claiming $2.1 million in refunds. Her actual legal income, judging from news video of her “residence,” was probably more in the area of $3. But her return flew swiftly through the system, and she received her refund — $2 million bucks — in the form of a state-issued debit card in the mail. Over the next two months, she spent about $150,000 of it on a Dodge Caravan and undetermined miscellaneous purchases amounting to tens of thousands each week. Meantime, not a single blip registered on the Department of Revenue’s radar.
The state computer only coughed after Reyes mislaid her card and couldn’t find it. Of course, she applied for a replacement, something that apparently seldom happens with tax-refund credit cards in such large amounts. She got her replacement card all right, but it had caught the attention of an unnamed tax office clerk. He took a closer look at Krystle’s return, poked a couple of keys on his computer, and promptly had kind of an epileptic seizure. Krystle’s card was cancelled and she was scooped up. State officials said they would “look into the matter.” We wonder how much she got back from the IRS on her federal return?
Performing A Valuable Public Service
Wow! Talk about convenient service! In the Netherlands, where “assisted suicide” euthanasia is legal, the Life-End Clinic recently announced the deployment of six “mobile euthanasia teams” available to make house calls! Now they will roll right on over to your house, apartment or other domicile, and help you get dead before the pizza delivery gets cold!
Here in the U.S., we have thousands of people with extensive experience who are amply qualified to cruise past your place and shoot you down on your porch or sidewalk without even stopping. We currently call ’em “drive-by shootings,” but just wait — soon they’ll be known as “unsolicited complimentary euthanasia procedures.”
New Product Idea
The Mavericks “gentlemen’s club” in Cape Town, South Africa, recently added a new line of products to their bar sales: The “Alibi” line of personal fragrances for men. The fragrances are designed to provide excuses for men heading home way past their curfew hours and potentially dealing with angry wives.
Now, instead of coming in smelling like booze and perfume, men can douse themselves with “I Was Working Late,” which smells like coffee and cigarette smoke, or perhaps “My Car Broke Down,” which makes the wearer stink of gasoline, burned rubber and old grease. Apparently, sales are goin’ like gangbusters, and even men who don’t frequent Mavericks are stopping by for a quick drink and a bottle of Alibi.
The first one of you who can come up with “I Was At The Range, Honey,” which would reek of burnt gunpowder and Hoppe’s Number 9, will make a fortune! Wait! Oh, going to the range is what you need an alibi for? OK, nevermind.
By Commander Gilmore
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