I guess the road to hell is actually paved with really shitty pork. In the photo in a new campaign by one of the “don’t ask, don’t retch” bacon producers, a coupla rashers are presented as the highway between Hash Brown Hill and French Toast Mesa, which is disturbing enough. But the text beneath just makes me conjure a copywriter with absinthe in hand and loaded revolver next to keyboard. He/she clearly had to work very, very hard not to mention the essential ingredient in great bacon to craft “carefully selected, hand-trimmed and naturally hardwood smoked for hours.” It’s sorta like a bogus jeweler omitting mention of how its gorgeous “diamonds” are actually polished from charcoal turds. No wonder satirists are fantasizing about bacon-fed pigs.