The following story is related by Merde’s agent, Donald Berry….
On a purely sensory level, it does not get better than bacon.
Only yesterday I was talking about bacon to one of my under-published clients, Jack Merde.
“Jack, I need to ask you a question,” I said. “Does it get any better than bacon?”
The notoriously reclusive Merde regarded me with a raised eyebrow and considered for a moment.
In a hushed and reverent voice, he said,
“I have traveled to farthest realms of the Earth in quest of the ultimate bacon. I have sampled thousands of bacon recipes and visited thousands of restaurants. I have studied at the feet of the most highly regarded bacon connoisseurs on the planet. But I still had not found that which I was seeking.
“I gave up all hope. In the depth of despair, I attempted suicide. I tied a hangman’s knot and placed it around my neck. Balancing on a folding chair, I tied the rope around a large pipe in the basement ceiling. Just as I was ready to kick the chair from under me, I smelled it: The PERFECT slice of bacon.
“Words alone cannot convey the sensations which overwhelmed me at that instant. The first whiff so overpowered my senses that I nearly fell off my chair! I struggled to regain my equilibrium. What ecstasy was this? My tongue began to salivate in anxious anticipation.
“I cast off the rope, quickly hurried up the stairs and rushed outside. The smell wafted upon the evening breeze, unmistakeable, as rich in sensation as if I were inhaling lungfuls of bacon juice. With each step, I was compelled like a moth to the flame, past shop after shop until finally I came upon the source, a small, non-descript hole-in-the-wall joint, the supreme mecca of bacon.
“There was no mistaking the look on my face. The hostess seated me immediately. At a glance, the waitress knew what I had come for. She did not offer a menu or ask for my order. Without a word, she simply disappeared into the kitchen.
“She had been gone for what seemed like an eternity. Just when I thought I could bear it no more, she emerged from the kitchen door with a plate heaped so high with bacon it fairly reached the sky.
“No sooner had the plate touched the table before I practically pounced upon it with no pretense of politeness or regard for my upbringing or station.
“And when that first magnificent, exquisite, heavenly, absolutely PERFECT slice of bacon touched my lips….”
Merde paused and seemed lost in thought, but I was beside myself, salivating like a sloberring Doberman on the verge of a bacon orgasm. I could no longer conceal the extent of my naked bacon envy. “Go on, continue,” I urged, panting heavily. “What happened next?”
Merde looked me squarely in the eye. He did not blink or hesitate.
“Anyway, that’s not important,” he said. ”I transcended pork a lifetime ago. It’s strictly fifth chakra for me from here on out.”
Merde rose. “Thanks for a lovely evening,” he said, doffing his cap.
I opened my mouth, but Merde quickly exited the restaurant before I could think of anything to say, leaving me again dissatisfied and stuck with the check.
