The Plot to Overthrow Bacon: Slater’s 50-50, Pasadena

Slater's 50-50 Chicken & Pancakes

Slater’s 50-50 Chicken & Pancakes

Around 7 o’clock in the evening of February 4, 1974  2013, I was taken against my will by a group of guerillas and forced into one of the strangest experiences of my lifetime (so far). I was just walking down the sidewalk in Pasadena, minding my own business for once, when it all happened.

My captors pulled a stinky hood over my head and cinched it real tight, forcing me to really take in the foul odor. It smelled… greasy. The smell was very familiar and unpleasant, I just couldn’t put my finger on it. But I was eventually able to get my fingers free, and I discovered a slippery, gritty substance all over the bag. “This must be bacon,” I said. One of my kidnappers yelled, “KEEP QUIET!”

I mumbled, “I was just talking about ‘Bacon'”.

“He knows too much.”

I said, “Who knows too much?”

“SHUT UP!” There must have been three of them.

They pushed me into some sort of sedan. We peeled out down the street, but I thought, “something isn’t right, this must be a hybrid car. It’s so quiet. Maybe a Prius. Oh, it could even be all-electric!” These guys are not your stereotypical kidnappers.

“We are the Symbionese Bacon Liberation Army. We are here to re-educate you about the government’s bacon lies.” I said, “Shit, is this gonna take long?” “SHUT YOUR BACON HOLE!”

I couldn’t believe this. At first, it was exciting but now it’s becoming clear that these kidnappers are crazy. “Sorry”, I said.

The car stopped. One of the kidnappers pulled the hood off of my head and replaced it with a gas mask, which also smelled like bacon. It took a second for my eyes to adjust, but I noticed that they were also wearing gas masks.

“Hey, are these in case the FBI lobs tear gas in here?” I asked.

“No, we put bacon inside them so that we can breathe bacon.”

“OK, so this really is just about bacon. But, why me?”

The main captor smiled and replied, “Your grandfather is a famous newspaper magnate. By brainwashing you and making you part of the SBLA, your grandfather will be forced to spread the greasy gospel. Basically, Big Cardio is spreading malicious misinformation about the dangers of bacon. We want to re-educate the world about the power of bacon.”

I said, “OK, I’ll do anything you want. Where do I start?” Whoa, Stockholm Syndrome came quick this time. When the guys that make home-made ding-dongs kidnapped me, it was at least 2 days before I was helping with the ding-dong molds.

“First, you need to pray towards Mecca.” Then, the three gas-masked weirdos turned 90 degrees, got down on all fours and oinked three times. I said, “And, what the hell are you guys doing?”

“We are praying towards ‘Slater’s 50/50′”, the main dude said.

“Slater’s 50/50? Wait, I think I saw that one! It was the very special episode of ‘Saved By The Bell’ when Mario Lopez comes out as bisexual, right? They’re all like, ‘does he even like girls?’ And Zack’s like, ‘Oh, Slater’s 50/50’… To be continued…”

I was smacked in the face with a slab of bacon. “Why’d you do that? I have Stockholm Syndrome!”

“Believe me, for that kind of sacrilegious talk, you could be killed. But, you’re kinda like the pet pig on a farm, the one that come dinner-time nobody wants to kill.”

“Awww, thanks.” I was touched. “So, what’s next after the Mecca thing? Are we gonna rob some banks?”

“No, you’re going to eat some bacon. This is the SBLA ritual. You eat some bacon, quite a bit of bacon, then you expel the toxins.”

Now, I really was confused. “‘Expel the toxins? Like, a fart? Sorry to be so crass, but I have no class.”

All three of them shook their heads, “No, no, no. That’s what the government calls it. When gas is expelled as the result of ingesting bacon, this is cleansing your body of toxins. You know about toxins, right? Whenever there’s something wrong with you, it’s called a toxin. Toxins are actually government spies in your body. Big Cardio calls it ‘farting’ to give bacon a negative connotation. In reality, you’re detoxifying your body of… um, toxins.”

“Thanks for clarifying that. What’s with the flag on the dashboard? Is it supposed to be a pig with 7 heads? Is that, like, the SBLA logo?”

“No. That’s a picture of Guy Fieri with seven heads. It’s an art project that didn’t really go anywhere. Just ignore it, it’s not really relevant to this kidnapping. Actually, thanks for reminding me, I have been meaning to get rid of it.”

“Can I have it?” I was trying to be nice.

“Really? Why do you want that thing?”

“It’s kind of cool. I know the perfect spot in my grandpa’s castle for it!”

“OK, let me just grab it here.” And as he leaned over to the dashboard, I slowly tried the door handle. It’s unlocked! I made a run for it.

My kidnappers made a quick U-turn and started gaining on me. I tore off my gas mask and flung it behind me on the street (I learned that move by watching “Babe – Pig In the City”), the bacon grease created an extremely slick surface on the asphalt. The Prius (HA! It was a Prius, after all) slipped and slid all over the street, until it crashed into a building. The building housed “Slater’s 50/50”. What a strange coincidence that the gas mask caused them to crash into the very building that served as the foundation for the SBLA terrorist organization!

Out of curiosity, I walked into the restaurant and looked around. There are dozens of huge flat screens and 30 kinds of bacon grease on tap! You know, I’m not really a big fan of bacon. I think that I’ll just order the chicken and pancakes, there’s probably no bacon in there. “Surprise, sucka, there’s bacon all up in there! It’s so bomb.” someone behind me said.

I spun around, looking for this raspy-voiced annoyance. “Ha ha. I’m here, yet I’m not here. Wherever the bacon is, there I is.”

“What? Where are you?” I couldn’t see him, but I could tell that he had a weird red and platinum-blonde aura. And, he kept referring to food things as being “Money.”

“I’m here, and I’m there. My name is Guy Fieri, and I’m everywhere-y. I eat what you eat, whether it’s meats or sweets. Chocolate treats or pig’s feet. I provide the soul of bacon, a flavor you can’t be fakin’. But I will never write a ballad for a salad. You stole the fizzy drink, so you lose.”

Oh boy, this guy sounds like me when I’m hungry.

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