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I picked these up on an impulse, tired of sporting Dora and Strawberry Shortcake bandages over my manly shaving-related mutilations. Just an impulse, good for a few chuckles, but I'm glad I did.
I like these bacon bandages. I love bacon, it makes everything tastier. You ever have scallops wrapped in bacon? Or, where I grew up, we had the francheezie, a quarter-pound dog, split up and filled with cheese, and wrapped with bacon. I love the idea of garnishing myself with bacon, and all it symbolizes. To my kosher cousins, the bacon serves as a slight, a defiant declaration that I will not be laden down by dogma and delusion. To my vegan brothers and sisters, the bacon is a visible symbol of my dishonor, a white-meat scarlet letter confessing my lack of grit: "I'm with you in spirit, comrades, but the flesh is weak."
I'm so fond of these band-aids that it's a little bit of a downer when my wounds heal up. I eager anticipate paper cuts. I'm actually contemplating getting a bacon tattoo. Let me know what you think.
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