"Two Legs Bad, Four Legs Delicious!"

I have to believe that the bacon served at Paddington’s Pump was cut from the flanks of virtuous pigs who died clean and noble deaths in the service of mankind. These pigs, I believe, lived long and happy lives of rustic splendor on a green and pleasant farm, possibly in the Appalachian foothills. The pig keeper was a jolly, red-faced man with twinkling eyes, who probably shed a tear when he had to butcher the poor beasts.

There is no way this bacon could have come from unhappy factory farm pigs, living in an Orwellian agriculture nightmare. Wait… scratch that last bit, since that was Animal Farm, and the pigs in that book had it pretty good.

So… okay, so maybe these pigs did come from an Orwellian agricultural nightmare, a farm where they walked around on their hind legs and held snifters of brandy in their trotters, and blamed all problems on the mysterious Snowball. Yes, that works. These pigs were tyrannical and wicked fellows, and their deaths represented freedom and liberty for the oppressed chickens and whatnot.

So, in other words, they taste great, and I don’t feel bad about eating them!