I think it’d be really rad to learn that my name meant “bacon” in some other language.
Call me crazy, but I’ve never liked bacon. Hey. Calm down. More for you. You can put my bacon on your bacon and then you’ll have double bacon!
I don’t feel any anger towards bacon; just a sense of exclusion when people discuss its deliciousness. Sorry guys. The smell of bacon cooking doesn’t inspire hunger for me. I think it smells like how I imagine pee sizzling on a radiator would smell. But if my name MEANT bacon, I bet people would really think I was cool. Hopefully, all those people would be cool themselves, because, let’s be honest… nobody is hankering for “more supercreepy/superboring people in my life.”
Ok. Except for Lady Gaga.
Until I discover that my name actually does mean bacon in some foreign dialect, maybe I’ll get myself this bacon watch!
Maybe people will see it and go “Ha! Nice watch! I love bacon, too, maaaaaaan!” and I’ll be all “actually, I don’t like bacon. I just bought this watch so strangers would talk to me. It’s going pretty well so far. How do you feel about it?”
Never mind. That won’t make friends.