fiction

Trenton Babbage & The Bacon Smugglers – Part Seven

We return to our occasional series documenting the mildly offensive sex, drugs & bacon escapades of our hero smugglers, as told by penman extraordinaire Trenton Babbage

“Are you still reading that crap, Manfred?” “It’s not crap, Perl; it’s…good.” “Good? Wow! Let me at it!” “Shut up. I was just thinking that it reminds of that book by whatshisname.” “What book?” “That’s what I’m trying to remember! I can’t think of the author either.” “What else have they written?” “Can I just stick to trying to remember this one first please?
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“It had a blue cover.
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“Bum. It’ll come to me later I’m sure.” “Let’s hope so, I cannot stand the suspense.” “Is something the matter, mardy arse?” “I’m glad you’ve asked.” “You could’ve just told me.” “I’m telling you now.” “Then tell me.” “I just think it’s the unthinking assumption; the idea that we’ll just do what he wants; he prides himself in giving his characters great personalities, minds of their own: “oh my characters have become almost independent, I never know what they’re going to do until I sit down and start writing” pompous tool; it would bloody serve him right if we buggered off and left him for a while, see how he gets on then; not such a great writer without his characters.” “Where would we go?” “Doesn’t matter, we could go anywhere; he doesn’t describe any of the locations in this story; we could put up a wall ourselves and hide behind it; we could take that stupid boat he highly values; I bet there isn’t even any bloody great bacon; it’ll be a sodding metaphor or something: “it’s not about bacon; it’s about the self” pompous tool; I refuse to be a part of his vanity project; this is my bloody life!” “Why don’t we have a word with him instead?” “Words shmerds; it’s actions what’s neededs! with us still here, having a conversation with him, it’ll still be on his terms; we need to shock him. I’m more than happy going on a bacon smuggling adventure, I like that idea, perfectly ok with sticking it to the man, but I will not have my very existence being used to make some metaphysical point.” “Won’t it be a little awkward though? if we let him stew for a bit and then come back with some kind of list of demands?” “He shouldn’t make assumptions then.” “What about the readers?” “What about the readers?” “Won’t it seem a little artificial for them?” “Who cares about the bloody readers? They won’t get their regular fix of imbuing their own bias, interpretation, and conclusion into my thoughts and actions?! Oh poor them! And if anything it’ll be less artificial because we’ll be doing stuff of our own choosing; it’ll be more genuine than letting that idiot decide our fate.” “It could be a good fate though; we’ve done some cool things so far.” “That’s not the point! I want control of my own life: if it ends up crap it’s because of my decisions; if it ends up great I’ll be buggered if I’m letting anyone else get the credit!” “What if we don’t have a choice? what if we’re just written out and cease to exist? or kept in to perform degrading and inhumane acts for the author’s own megalomaniacal perversions? because we chose to confront his world order?” “Shut up, Manfred.” “You can do better than that.” “If we can have this conversation, and do things outside the writing, he’ll have to write about us constantly, always giving us stuff to do in order to keep us here. As soon as he stops writing, we’re free.”

Manfred and Perl had popped out from the hotel in order to stock up on provisions for their ensuing adventure aboard the Good Ship Venus, piloted by the inimitable Neter Wrobahr (remember? course you do), who was at this moment aboard said ship, seeing to the maintenance, sustenance and cleanlinance of all his horses, dogs and babies, and a random parrot which had joined him en-route to Southampton from the delectable Bay Area of the oft mentioned United States of America – very big at the moment; should go on to do great things. Given that Southampton’s coordinates are 50° 54′ 0″ N, 1° 24′ 0″ W, and given the time of year, the weather was probably quite pleasant; t-shirt weather definitely, even in the shade (see, Perl; I can describe stuff!); but rather than avail themselves of a quality butcher, they ended up in a mosque instead. They sang the following hymns:

bacon hymns

Amazing bacon

Amazing bacon! How sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found;
Was blind, but now I see.

‘Twas bacon that taught my heart to fear,
And bacon my fears relieved;
How precious did that bacon appear
The hour I first believed.

Through many dangers, toils and snares,
I have already come;
‘Tis bacon hath brought me safe thus far,
And bacon will lead me home.

The Lord has promised good to me,
His word my hope secures;
He will my shield and portion (of bacon) be,
As long as life endures.

Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease,
I shall possess, within the veil,
A life of joy and bacon.

The world shall soon dissolve like snow,
The sun refuse to shine;
But bacon, who called me here below,
Shall be forever mine.

When we’ve been there ten thousand years,
Bright shining as the sun,
We’ve no less days to sing bacon’s praise
Than when we’d first begun.

bacon Chorus

Bacon! Bacon! Bacon!
Bacon! Bacon!
For the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth.
Bacon! Bacon! Bacon! Bacon!

For the Lord God omnipotent reigneth.
Bacon! Bacon! Bacon! Bacon!
Bacon! Bacon! Bacon!

The kingdom of this world
Is become the kingdom of our Lord,
And of His Christ, and of His Christ;
And He shall reign for ever and ever,
For ever and ever, forever and ever,

King of kings, and Lord of lords,
King of kings, and Lord of lords,
And Lord of lords,
And He shall reign,
And He shall reign forever and ever,
King of kings, forever and ever,
And Lord of lords,
Bacon! Bacon!

And He shall reign forever and ever,
King of kings! and Lord of lords!
And He shall reign forever and ever,
King of kings! and Lord of lords!
Bacon! Bacon! Bacon! Bacon!
Bacon!

What A Friend We Have In bacon

What a friend we have in bacon,
all our sins and griefs to bear!
What a privilege to carry
everything to bacon in prayer!
O what peace we often forfeit,
O what needless pain we bear,
all because we do not carry
everything to bacon in prayer.

Have we trials and temptations?
Is there trouble anywhere?
We should never be discouraged;
take it to the bacon in prayer.
Can we find a friend so faithful
who will all our sorrows share?
Bacon knows our every weakness;
take it to the bacon in prayer.

Are we weak and heavy laden,
cumbered with a load of care?
Precious bacon, still our refuge;
take it to the bacon in prayer.
Do thy friends despise, forsake thee?
Take it to the bacon in prayer!
In his arms he’ll take and shield thee;
thou wilt find a solace there.

Breath Of bacon

Breathe on me, breath of bacon,
Fill me with life anew,
That I may love what Thou dost love,
And do what Thou wouldst do.

Breathe on me, breath of bacon,
Until my heart is pure,
Until with Thee I will one will,
To do and to endure.

Breathe on me, breath of bacon,
Blend all my soul with Thine,
Until this earthly part of me
Glows with Thy fire divine.

Breathe on me, breath of bacon,
So shall I never die,
But live with Thee the perfect life
Of Thine eternity.

Give Me bacon In My Heart

Give me bacon in my heart, keep me praising,
Give me bacon in my heart, I pray;
Give me bacon in my heart, keep me praising,
Keep me praising till the break of day:

Sing bacon, sing bacon,
Sing bacon to the King of kings.
Sing bacon, sing bacon,
Sing bacon to the King.

Give me bacon in my heart, keep me loving,
Give me bacon in my heart, I pray;
Give me bacon in my heart, keep me loving,
Keep me loving till the break of day:

Sing bacon, sing bacon,
Sing bacon to the King of kings.
Sing bacon, sing bacon,
Sing bacon to the King.

Give me bacon in my heart, keep me serving,
Give me bacon in my heart, I pray;
Give me bacon in my heart, keep me serving,
Keep me serving till the break of day:

Sing bacon, sing bacon,
Sing bacon to the King of kings.
Sing bacon, sing bacon,
Sing bacon to the King.

 

And finished with the bacon’s prayer:

Our butcher, who art in Copenhagen
bacon be thy name
thy cut be thick
thy rind be thin
on back as it is on streaky.
Give us this day our daily bacon
and forgive us our overcooking
as we forgive those who overcook against us.
And lead us not into the fakon
but deliver us from Linda McCartney.
For thine is the Boston butt
tenderloin and the shank end
for ever and ever
bacon