I smell bacon!

My friends and I were going to cook breakfast, so the day before we went to Kroger to buy breakfast stuffs. We divvied up roles, and I quickly claimed “bacon”. I love bacon. In fact, I say, “Everything tastes better with bacon!” Case in point: filet mignon. Nobody thought there was anything better than a good cut of steak… until they wrapped it in bacon.

One of my friends joined me on Team Bacon, and we found one of those coolers in the center aisle full of bacon that was on sale. I found some and picked it up. It was gorgeous. It was some of the best looking bacon I had ever laid eyes on. Just as I decided this was the piece of pig I’d take home with me, a man walked up to the other side of the cooler.

This man flipped a leather wallet open to reveal a badge. This man was an officer of the law! My mind started going at a thousand miles an hour. The only time police ever stop me is for traffic violations and the rare occasion of out-of-season illegal fireworks. I checked my person; I wasn’t driving my car and I hadn’t blown anything up in recent memory.

So now my mind was trying to figure out what was going on! This was days before Halloween, so could this have been a prank? This man was too serious.

Then it clicked in my mind! This was a sting! There was a guy out there who had been using bacon illegally! This bacon was laced with crack! Or maybe some criminal was using it to grease himself up to slide through bars and steal stuff! I didn’t know! I’m not a criminal genius; I only know how to eat bacon!

But I figured the police officer was trained to know that on sight. He probably knew bacon had never been involved in any of my firework-exploits. He must have been a kindly officer letting me know I needed to get out of the way so that when the Bacon Bandit arrived, I wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire. I was wrong.

“Do you have a gun?” he asked me. I was kind of horrified, because I’ve never held a real gun. I’m clumsy and a firearm in my hands would be a great danger to society. He could see it in my face and asked, “Or maybe a toy gun?”

Oh yeah. I had one of those. Two in fact. I had just hung out the passenger side of my friends car and used those two cap guns to pretend I was drive-bying somebody in my breakfast party. Apparently the police don’t like that. So I showed him the cap guns, and explained that they were part of my friend’s “Mexican Gunfighter” costume.

He told me that people made real guns that looked like that. He also told me if they didn’t have the orange caps on them and I had pointed them at him, he wouldn’t have hesitated to shoot me with his real gun. And it probably wouldn’t have left the sexy bullet scar I always dreamed about.