Tag: bacon

Calls It How He Eats It

“This is the life,” Woodruff said.

“We needed this,” Bob replied.

“No doubt,” Woodruff agreed.

Woodruff reached into a small Styrofoam cup and pulled out a muddy, wriggly, worm.  He quickly expanded a fish rod and caught hold of the hook dangling off the end of the line.  With the hook in one hand and the worm in the other, Woodruff sought to join the two by force.

“That’s barbaric,” Bob said.

“It’s nature,” Woodruff argued.

“Nature?” Bob said.  “So, hooks are the natural predators of worms?”

“Fish prey on worms, I’m just the middle-man,” Woodruff said.

“It’d be more natural if you ate the worms and left the fish alone,” Bob said.

“Fishing goes back to the dawn of human history,” Woodruff said.  “There are cave paintings depicting fishing, and archeologists have found stone age fish hooks made of bone.”

“Yeah, barbaric.”

“You’re just mad because you can’t bait a hook.”

“Could too!”

“Uh huh, sure you could Grandma knits-a-lot.”

“How dare you!” Bob exclaimed.  With crotchet hooks in hand, he swiveled on the boulder to turn away from Woodruff, carefully balancing the balls of yarn in his lap.  Bob rapidly weaved red and blue yarn together with sterling silver crotchet hooks, purposefully blocking his work from Woodruff’s view.

When Woodruff had properly baited his hook, he stood up on top of the massive rock and held the pole over his head and behind him.  He surveyed the body of water and looked for a calm spot between their shoreline and the banks of the not-so-distant island in front of them.

“I choose to use my hooks to create not to kill,” Bob said, holding up a long sock shaped creation.  “I’m making this for you, worm murderer.  Maybe it could warm your cold heart.”

Woodruff lowered the pole and pivoted to look at Bob, who had already turned his attentions back to his project.

“You’re making me a heart cozy?”

“It was going to be an oven mitt, but that was before you forsook the sanctity of life.”

“The sanctity of life?”

“Hashtag worm lives matter, Woodruff, worm lives matter.”

“You’re being very dramatic.”

“Woodruff the wormslayer!”

“When I said I wanted to go fishing, what did you think was going to happen?” Woodruff asked.

“I thought you were going to catch them with your bare hands like a gentleman,” Bob said.

“And then what?” Woodruff asked.  “Don’t fish lives matter?”

“You’re going to kill the fish too?!” Bob shouted.

“I’m not going to eat a live fish.”

“You’re going to eat them?!”

“What else would I do with them?”

“I don’t know, return them to the water with a light taunting for getting caught.”

Woodruff stared down at Bob with his mouth agape.  The rod in his hand wobbled from the movement of the worm on the end of the line.  The moment past with only the sound of a gust of wind between them.

“I need to know that you know where food comes from,” Woodruff said.

“I’m not a child,” Bob replied.  “I know where you carnivores turn for sustenance.  That’s why I gave up fish and chicken and lamb, oh, and hot dogs.  Gross.”

“You had a hamburger last night,” Woodruff said.  “What do you think that was made from?”


“And where does beef come from?”

“Uh, the store, obviously.”

“Before the store.”

“Beef farms?”

“Bob, beef comes from cows.”


“Beef, hamburgers, steak, it comes from cows.”

“Then why don’t we call it cow?” Bob asked, incredulously.

Woodruff put down his fishing rod and rubbed his forehead with both hands.  He drew in a deep breath and watched Bob stare off at the shimmering waters.  Bob’s head slowly tilted to the side and his lips began to quiver slightly.

“An orange is an orange, an apple is an apple, lettuce is lettuce, chicken is chicken, and beef is cow?” Bob muttered.

From the look on Bob’s face, he was clearly grappling with the new reality.  Woodruff picked up a canteen in a camouflage pouch and walked over to Bob.  Crouching down he unscrewed the lid and offered it to his befuddled friend.  Bob took the canteen and mindlessly drank from it.  Swallowing the cool refreshing liquid, he pulled the canteen away from his mouth and looked at it suspiciously.

“Water is from water, right?” Bob asked.

“Yes, water is from water,” Woodruff said.  “Bob, are you going to be okay?”

“What other food doesn’t go by its animal name?”

“That’s not important right now, you need time to process this.”

“That’s exactly what you said to me when I asked if Vincent died in the LOST finale,” Bob accused.  “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing,” Woodruff said.

“Woodruff,” Bob demanded.

Woodruff drew in a deep breath, and exhaled slowly, “Bacon.”

“No.  No.”

“Bacon, Bob.”

“But, but bacon comes from pork.”

“Why do you think the pig on Looney Tunes is named Porky.”

“No…no.  It’s can’t be!  That’s not true!  That’s impossible!”

“Search your feelings.  You know it to be true.”



Four hours later Bob was still hunched over the boulder in the fetal position, with Woodruff fishing quietly by his side.


“Yeah Bob.”

“Is there a turg or a wild pirkey out there that we get turkey bacon from?”

“I think it’s just turkey that’s made to look like bacon.”

“That’s awful.”

“No argument here.”

Bob sat up and wiped at the tear stains on his cheeks.  Woodruff set his pole down softly and turned to face his friend.

“You all right?” Woodruff asked.

“I don’t know,” Bob said.  “You know, you think you are a certain kind of person, but then you have to look yourself in the mirror and tell that person that you love bacon and you don’t care who it hurts.  It’s hard.”

“I know, amigo, I know.”

“We were supposed to come out here and chillax, disconnect, take a break, get off the grid.”

“We did, we’re off the grid,” Woodruff said.  “We’ve disconnected.  We’re out in nature.  Look.”

Woodruff gesture out at the beautiful vista, a lake surrounded by evergreens with a wooded island near the center.

“What else out there have I been eating?” Bob said, glumly.

“Honestly, none of the animals you eat were ever in the wild,” Woodruff said.  “They were most likely raised on farms to be slaughtered for food.”

Bob burst into tears and threw himself back on top of the boulder, “I’m a monster.”

“You’re not a monster.”

Woodruff’s fishing pole shot off the rocky shore and went skipping across the top of the water.


Bob sat up and they both watched the rod dancing in the wake of a fleeing fish.  The wake turned parallel to the shoreline as it approached the island.  In a flash, a giant hairy blur exploded from behind the cover the trees and ripped the fish from the water.  With wide-eyed wonder, Woodruff and Bob watched the towering creature retreat, back through the trees with fish in hand, dragging the fishing pole behind it.

“Did you see that?” Woodruff asked.

“I sure did,” Bob replied.

“Was that…?”


“A Yeti.”

“A Bigfoot.”

“Break is over,” Woodruff said.

“Things just got real,” Bob said.

“You know where we’re going.”

“The island.”

“Most definitely.”

Bob collected his balls of yarn and Woodruff picked up his tackle box.  With their supplies tucked underneath their arms they looked across the lake toward the island.

“Hey, Woodruff?”

“Yeah Bob.”

“You wanna get something to eat before we head to Bigfoot Island?”

“What’re you in the mood for?”

“I could go for a PLT.”

“A PLT?”

“A Pig, Lettuce, and Tomato Sandwich.”

“Sounds hamtastic.”

“Don’t be insensitive, Woodruff.”

“I’m sirloin, um, sorry, I’m sorry.”

Woodruff grinned wryly and Bob shook his head.

“We have a Sasquatch across the way, but you’re the real monster.”

The Bobber They Are

“I’m Ashley Baker with Channel 10 Today and we’re here with a pair of record seekers, who set out to do what’s not been done before,” a tall blonde woman with long eyelashes spoke into a black microphone.  “What is your name, sir?”

“Sir?” Woodruff said.  “That’s very fancy, like a knight or Elton John.  Uh, my name is Woodruff, and that guy up there is Bob.”

Woodruff pointed over his head and the camera panned up to see a man in a harness, dangling from the end of a crane.

“Bob!” Woodruff shouted.  “Wave to the pretty reporter!”

Bob waved enthusiastically as he swayed gently in the breeze.

“Her name is Ashely!” Woodruff yelled.  “She’s with Channel 10 Today!”

“Hey there, Ashley!” Bob shouted back.  “Hi Channel 10 Today!”

“So, whatcha got going on up there?” Ashley asked and stuck the microphone into Woodruff’s face.

“Oh, uh, well,” Woodruff stuttered as he ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck.  “We, uh, are building the tallest tower of bacon in the world.”

“Woodruff!” Bob shouted down.  “Tell her about the tower!”

“I just did!” Woodruff yelled up to his dangling friend.  “And she can see the tower!”

Ashely giggled as she pulled the microphone back to her.

“And what made you want to build this bacon tower?”

“Woodruff!  Tell her it’s made of bacon!”

“She knows!” Woodruff shouted.  He turned back to Ashley and continued.  “We’re going for the world record.”

“Tell her about the record!”

“I just did!” Woodruff said.  “I got this!”

“Okee Dokee, Artichokee!” Bob yelled as he swung toward the tower and placed a crispy piece of bacon on the top.

“And what is the world record for a bacon tower?”

“Well, Bob figures the tallest one he’s ever built is about a foot and a half,” Woodruff said.  “But that was just him looking for a more efficient bacon delivery method.”

“And how tall will this tower be?”

“We’re going for fifty feet.”

“For gosh sakes!” the reporter exclaimed.  “That’s a ton of bacon.”

“Actually, it’s more like half a ton,” Woodruff said.  “It really lightens up when you fry it and blot the grease on a paper towel.”

Woodruff pointed over to a white canopy where a bearded man in a red beanie was frying bacon on a Coleman camping stove.  Next to him, a short stocky woman with a wispy mustache blotted the bacon on a paper towel.

“That’s Kenny, he’s a pro baconeer,” Woodruff said.  “And Carmela blots the bacon and gets it to Ruth to take it up to Bob at the top of the crane.”

The short stocky woman handed the blotted bacon over to a white and gray seagull, who flew to the top of the crane and delivered it to Bob.  With a big smile, Bob waved the bacon back down toward the camera.

“Oh for cute,” Ashley said.  “How’d ya train that bird?”

“Ruth?” Woodruff asked.  “She’s not trained, as far as I know.  She’s just helping us out.”

“Well I’ll be.”

“Yeah, she’s a good friend.”

“That’s quite an operation ya got there,” Ashley remarked.  “So Kenny’s a professional cook?”

“Nah, he’s a vagabond American,” Woodruff said.  “But he’s a bacon enthusiast, like me and Bob.”

“And Carmela?”

“She just loves to blot things.”

“Woodruff!” Bob shouted.  “Tell her about the gravy!”

“The bottom of the tower is solidified with bacon gravy,” Woodruff explained.  “We needed a foundation that would sustain the height but wanted to maintain the total bacon integrity of the tower.”

“And Martin County is just the perfect place for a bacon tower,” Ashley said.


“Did you tell her about the gravy?” Bob shouted.

“I told her!”

“It’s like cement!” Bob shouted, swaying back and forth.  “Made of gravy!”

“She knows!” Woodruff said.  “Anywho, Kenny has a cousin up here in Minnesota who let us borrow his camping stove.  So it kinda made the decision for us.”

“But Martin County is the bacon capital of the US of A, dontcha know.”

“It is?”

“You betcha.”

“Well, we didntcha know that,” Woodruff said.  “We didntcha know that at all.”

“How long ya been working on this tower?”

“Uh, we started on Tuesday,” Woodruff said.  “The first couple of days were slow going until we found out Bob had enacted the one for one rule.”

“What’s the one for one rule?”

“Oh, you know, one for the tower and one for Bob,” Woodruff said.  “Once he promised to stop eating the bacon our progress nearly doubled.”

“Woodruff!” Bob shouted.  “I feel sick!”

“And who’s fault is that?” Woodruff shouted back.

“Mine,” Bob said after a short reflective pause.

“Don’t you dare blow bacon all over this nice lady, and her cameraman!” Woodruff warned.

“I won’t,” Bob said, contritely.

“Uff da,” Ashley muttered.  “Um, when will the tower be completed?”

“How much further do we have to go?” Woodruff shouted at his skyward friend.

“About eight bacon lengths!”

“We should be done by dinner.”

“And are you planning on eating this tower?”

“It’d be a shame to let all this glorious porky belly go to waste,” Woodruff said.  “We figured we’d share it with the good people of Martin County.”

“How didya put the word out?”

“Oh, we figured it was like a Field of Dreams kinda deal,” Woodruff said.  “Ya know, if you build it they will come.”

“You’re just expecting people to find your tower of meat in a meadow in the middle of Martin County?”

“Well, you found us didntcha?”

Ashely looked back into the camera with a smirk.  “He’s got me there.”

“Hey Woodruff!”

“What?” Woodruff shouted.

“Look over there!” Bob pointed out beyond the white canopy.

Woodruff and Ashley turned around and the camera panned out over the tree line to their left, following the flight of the white and gray seagull.  A long line of cars could be seen in the distance, exiting the highway and turning onto the road that led to the meadow.

“Well I’ll be,” Ashley’s voice said, off-camera.

“We’ll all be, Ashley,” Woodruff said.  “We’ll all be, enjoying this delicious monument to meat.”

“Ruth!” Bob shouted.  “You better start toast’n that bread!  We’ve got company.”

“Jeet yet Martin County?”  Ashley said as she turned to face the camera and held the microphone directly in front of her smiling face.  “‘cause it looks like we’re gonna have an old fashion feeding frenzy with our new friends Woodruff and Bob.  I’m Ashley Baker with Channel 10 Today…”

“I’m Woodruff,” Woodruff said, leaning into the frame.

“And I’m Bob!” a voice called from above.

“Reporting live from the Martin County Bacon Tower, while it lasts,” Ashley signed off and the cameraman lower the camera from his shoulder.  “Thank you, Woodruff, that was great.”

“Thank you,” Woodruff said.  “I really enjoyed it.”

“Me too.”

“Hey,” Woodruff said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking sheepish.  “Do you have any plans for dinner?  ‘cause we’ve got all this bacon and…”

“Are you asking her out?” Bob shouted.

“No!” Woodruff shouted back up.

“Cause it looks like you’re trying to ask her out!”

“Well I’m not!”

“But you’re doing that thing where you nervously rub the back of your neck!”

“I have an itch!”

“Okay, my bad!”

“Anywho,” Woodruff continued.  “If you, and your cameraman, wanted to stay and eat with us, that’d be cool.”

“I think I’d like that,” Ashley said.

“If you’re not going to ask her out, can I?” Bob shouted as he swayed on the breeze.  “She’s cute!”

“She doesn’t want to go out with you!” Woodruff shouted.  “You smell like bacon and cheese!”

Woodruff looked back at the reporter and rubbed the back of his neck.  “Sorry about him.”

“No worries,” Ashley said.  “It’s kinda cute.”

“Maybe she likes bacon and cheese!” Bob shouted.

“She doesn’t!”

“Did you ask her?”

“Yes!” Woodruff shouted.  “She’s lactose intolerant!”

“Cheese curds!” Bob swore as he shook his fists at the heavens.

Woodruff grinned and the reporter and she smiled back.  “Right this way, I’ll find you a nice seat on one of the bacon coolers next to Carmela.”

“I have to go to the bathroom!” Bob shouted.

Woodruff ignored him and led the reporter, and the cameraman, back toward the white canopy as Bob continued to dangle from the crane.

“Woodruff?” Bob shouted.  “Woodruff?  I’m serious!  I need to go to the little Bob’s room!  Woodruff?”

Ruth flew over the crane and out beyond the tree line toward the long line of approaching cars as the sun hung low in the bright blue Midwestern sky.

“Never mind,” Bob’s voice echoed from the distance.