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If it is quite alright with you, I prefer not to have any Swine Flu today. Several thick slabs of hickory-smoked bacon and a couple of sunny-side-up eggs would be nice, with a heaping helping of hash browns and several slices of buttered toast on the side—but no Swine Flu, if you please.
And you can’t have a good Saturday-morning breakfast without a tall, steaming cup of golden roast, 100 percent Arabica, freshly-ground coffee, with enough milk and sugar to turn it into a coffee-flavored celebration. But add a little bit of Swine Flu to the mix, and the party’s over.
I’m so glad that our president has started referring to this disease as the H1N1 virus. Pigs don’t deserve to be so maligned. I suppose mad cows deserve to have an ailment named after them, but I’ll stick up for pigs any day of the week because I really enjoy bacon.
I once tried to cook pigs feet for my family, but it turned into a disaster. I thought you were supposed to boil the pigs feet, pull off all the meat, and turn it into a casserole—but that’s not how it works. I boiled the pigs feet (I had a dozen), pulled off the meat (the amount of which barely filled a teaspoon), then threw the whole stinkin’ mess away and fixed a nice tuna casserole instead.
I don’t have any pigs. I suppose, if I did, I’d be giving them a leery eye right about now. Instead, I have goats. Goats don’t have a disease named after them. If they did, I bet it would be something like Goat Tongue.
“Oh, Bill, I don’t feel good,” said the good wife upon waking on a Saturday morning. “I think I’ve got Goat Tongue.”
“Not the dreaded Goat Tongue,” said her good husband, hoping this wouldn’t spoil his Saturday-morning breakfast of bacon and eggs. “Here, stick out your tongue, and let me see.”
The good wife moans and groans, sticks out a tongue, all hairy and with horns, and almost faints in the process.
“Nope, looks okay to me,” said her good husband. “Can I have three eggs this morning? I’m really hungry.”
I feel sorry for pigs. They’re not the prettiest animals on the planet, and now they’re getting a lot of bad press. And why the Jews don’t like them, I haven’t a clue. But, boy, do they taste good. And whether it be sizzling in a frying pan, roasted over a slow fire, or sliced for my Sunday afternoon sandwich, I shall forever be thankful for the existence of pigs.
But if it’s okay with you, I’ll skip having Swine Flu. It doesn’t sound very appetizing.
