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Dogs Don't Know It's Not Bacon.
  My pants smell like bacon.

Which is a little weird because I had bacon like, 4 days ago. When I made it, I wasn't wearing these pants.

I bet that while I was sleeping my pants got up and made itself (themselves? how confusing..) some bacon.

I don't think that my Levi's know how to use the microwave. They must have done it on the stove range. Which would explain the horrible mess that I found in my kitchen a couple of nights ago, but mistakingly credited the small cupboard knomes with creating.

But we all know that cupboard knomes are Koscher and dont' make bacon.

Hence, the reason that my pants are prime suspect for this pork debauchery.

I am now forced to tie my pants to the closet's clothes rail hangy thing as to eliminate all guilt. I do not know how long this will take, I am willing to risk the possibility that my pants will go on an indigo strike and become white jeans, but dammit, I can't have articles of clothes walking around unworn (the equivalent of human naked) and making pork products.

I certainly don't want to catch my thongs making Chirizo. And Jebus help me if I find out one of my tube socks is grilling up some tube steak when I'm not around.

If this continues, I'm going to start requireing that all my clothes pitch in for grocery costs. Bacon is expenisve and if my jeans want to have a couple of slices, they're going to have to get a job.

And that's that.

It sure does suck when your jeans smell like Bacon.

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