The Mystery of the Bacon

    One morning, my mother precooked the bacon before frying it on the stove. "Gross!" I said. I ate my eggs and toast posthaste. The bacon was staring at me.
     "Eat me, eat me," I thought I heard the bacon say. That scared me.
     "Mom, I don't feel well. Do I have to eat my bacon?" I said as my lame pretext.
     "I demand you to eat it or I will prevent you from going to Bob's house today," she said, "If I let you off this time, I'll set a precedent for next time."
     Reluctantly, I ate my bacon. It tasted like feet. The aftertaste was much worse. That tasted more like moldy feet. When I got to Bob's house, I started to feel sick. I was going to tell him about the bacon, but as an afterthought, i decided that he would just laugh at me. I was definitely not feeling an afterglow. What a crusty aftereffect.
     Bob noticed that I was not feeling well. He said that my symptoms were an antecedent to death. I didn't believe him.
     When I got home, I told my mom I felt sick. She said it was because I gobbled my breakfast too fast and I deserved the aftermath. I don't believe her either.
     Maybe the bacon was spoiled. Maybe something in the prepackaging poisoned it. As far as I know, the mystery of the bacon will never be solved.

The End