1. Eating one of these is an important security feature to keep vegans from infiltrating Tasty Animal Murdering ‘Muricans lodge meetings. Level 2 security invokes fine ales or stouts served by topless redheads.

    1. Let me fix that for you, Kim:

      “Reason #1 why you never insult the vegan male waiters until AFTER the meal”

      Must play by the rules.

  2. Bun – dairy wash for color, ranch dressing – buttermilk, melted cheese – dairy, lots of milk with bacteria and some rennet which is chopped up calf stomach , bacon – adipose swine belly, beef, wonderful bloody ground cow muscle and fat so yes this is almost acceptable for vegans if, as said above they want to eat the toothpick and pickle and throw the rest my way.

  3. The vego-weenies see abused and needlessly murdered cows and pigs…

    The health nuts see too much sodium, cholesterol and fat, plus gluten, nitrites and nitrosamines, blah, blah, blah…

    I see a wonderfully handcrafted bacon cheeseburger, cooked to perfection, in all its delicious goodness!

  4. If Mt. Cheeseburger isn’t the “hill to die on”, it damn sure is a worthy candidate as the hill to die FROM.

    And what a way to go! *nom nom nom*

    Sunk New Dawn
    Galveston, TX

  5. Artura “Artie” O’Casio looked at the stack of brunch steaming in front of her, then down at her two hands.
    Artie thought ‘am I woman enough?’, then thoughtfully added ‘maybe I could ask the next weegun I run across’…

  6. With only two more ‘Big-Girls’ to go before tying the champion and == hopefully == winning The Bronze Doggie Bag for fiscal year 19-20, Artura “Artie” O’Casio took a deep breath, rolled her shoulders, smiled… and cracked her knuckles in the direction of the closest weeguns.

  7. Wagging her tail friendily, Artura “Artie” O’Casio went ‘on point’, her snout twitching at the scent of the unfamiliar ‘droppings’ of a trespassing dog. Artie took one ‘tentative’ step, then another, until her sensitive sinuses were mere millimeters from the pile.

    She sniffed rapidly, each exhalation clearing the atomized material circulating from the prior snort.

    Deep in her ancestral sub-conscious, Artie recognized the fragrance of meat. And the stink from some weegun crud, but she ignored that.

  8. For the eighth time this shift, startled from her slumber by the jangling bell, fire department ‘proby’ Artura “Artie” O’Casio ‘sleep-walked’ her feet into her waiting trousers and the boots semi-emtombed below them.

    As she shrugged into her heavy heat-resistant coat, she idly hoped she would never again ‘freeze’ at the thought of touching one of the hideous weeguns, always so sickly, always calling Emergency Services! And yet, Artie knew this was too early in her life-saver career to make any long-term promises.

    They were weeguns, after all, but she wouldn’t want to get stuck in an alley, surrounded by a baker’s dozen of the freaks. In her heart, Artie knew the dammed things were evil, but she held hope she could hold onto the remnants of her ‘First Responder’ oath.

    But, cripes! Yuck! A gal has to ‘draw’ the line someplace! They are weeguns!

  9. Smacking her mighty lips loud enough to ‘wake the dead’ == and clanging her stir-stick against the pot with a smirk == ‘head’ cook Artura “Artie” O’Casio added a salt-sprinkle ‘finish’ to her latest creation, a tempting taste treasure ‘involving’ a backpacker, a certain miss Ingrid Gunderhite, formerly of Norway. Or Finland. One of ‘them cold places’ where ‘white peoples’ ‘be acting’ ‘all high and mighty’.

    Artie nodded confidently, knowing she maintained the highest standards of her tribe’s unofficial motto == Use All Of The Weegun.

  10. Tanned and relaxed after her Caribbean vacation, wearing the traditional ‘O’Shaughnessy’ beanie so trendy with her people, and with a face ‘only a mother could love’, leftennit Artura “‘Artie’ to her commanding ossifer” O’Casio, marched into the waiting weegun crowds solemnly waiting in the weegun waiting room. Leading ‘left’, following those untold == and untolled == millions of times those very orders were barked at her squad by demonish drill sergeants.

    Short and stumpy. Behind her back, the troopers snidely remarked astonishingly snide remarks, comparing the leftennit and her dimensions to an ant-hill in the rain. Wider than she was tall by a half. A year supply of prepper ‘storage food’ carried up-close-and-personal, with frequent probings, scratchings, jigglings, and various similar finger(s)-to-gut sorts of acknowledgements to reassure her… and continually reassure her… every caloric morsel, her entire inventory, her mobile treasure… safe and secure on-board!

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