Immortality has long been sought to avoid the dark uncertainness of death; a way of imprinting a permanence of essence in the tactile plane of reality. To these ends medical science has made persistent, incremental advancements upon death's steely embrace (like vainly hitting the spacebar a couple of times inside life's parenthesis), and religion has stepped up to provide the consolation prize of a vague uncertain immortality of your soul (presumably this type of immortality does not include getting to annoy your still-alive friends and neighbors, which is why it is a second-rate type of immortality). Philosophy has pragmatically offered the suggestion that who cares about permanence, you'll be dead! The only proven method by which one may doubtlessly extend their influence beyond the grave is to produce works of enduring quality and relevance that will be permanent grooves in life's phonograph. Through the records of your deeds and the memories of others, you will live forever.
Behold: Immortality (AKA the bacon-shelled taco):
YES! To build a Baco, first have the shop guys at work fabricate a Baco mold out of industrial stainless steel:
Then you somehow convince your friends to let you come over and get bacon all over their stuff. Then you weave a bacon mat:
Then you borrow your friend's scissors and cut the mat into a circle:
Then you drape your beloved future heart attack over an aluminum foil-clad Baco mold, realize you made it too big, make a half-size bacon mat, realize the half-size one is too small, decide that life is too short for perfection and make them anyway:
Oh, and I forgot to mention that it is recommended that you be on at least your 4th beer by this point (I recommend Session Lager or Red Stripe because I am going through a stubby-beer-bottle phase right now). Next you sick your creation in a preheated 300deg oven, drink some more and watch the Muppet Show on DVD for a while, get impatient and turn up the oven to 400, have some more beer, and remove a taco-shaped, crisp section of heaven from the oven:
After basking in a column of light from heaven accompanied by choirs of angels celebrating your eternal bacony glory, it's time to fill up your Baco shells! Bacos SN#0000001 and SN#0000002 were both filled with iceberg lettuce, crumbled blue cheese, and more bacon:
Yeah, yeah you've already seen that picture, but I forgot to take a picture of the filled-up big one, so the little one has to do the work of two (there is probably a life lesson or inspirational fable here, which I might investigate later). Here is Baco the First inches from maiden voyage:
Pay special attention to how structurally sound the baco is! It actually might be more durable than actual hard-taco shells. Prepare for docking:
BACO IS DOCK-O! Its texture is the bastard children of forbidden love betwixt crunchy and chewy, and its taste is salty glory.
Next step is to make your attractive friends eat Bacos while you take unflattering photos of them with your crappy digital camera:
Ha ha ha ha, sorry guys! Don't worry, I'm sure the internet is paying more attention to the Baco anyway.
Next step is to forget what Kyle H (somehow not pictured with Baco) put in Baco SN#0000003.
Next step is to wake up with a wicked Baco hangover.
Next step is to use the internet to thank Courtney and Lisa for letting me get bacon all over their kitchen and arteries.