Chocolate Covered Bacon On A Stick Monster Truck Rally America Hell Yes!!

This picture. This goddamn picture. It’s glorious. Sure, it encompasses just about everything that’s wrong with America, but to hell with all that. You have to give the creators of this image some props for not holding back their belligerent patriotism.

We can only image it was created by two men — one, the thinker and dreamer; the other, the balls-to-the-wall doer. After struggling for hours, trying to come up with the prefect sweet and savory treat that wouldn’t force a person to consume it while prone, the thinker struck gold. He wanted to put bacon on a stick. Then, he wanted it that bacon stick with covered chocolate because (as he would later write in his memoirs), “Fuck it. Might as well.”

But, alas, he was merely the thinker. He had no idea how to make such an epic and earth-shattering food-ish thing. He was despondent. He did nothing but mope around town, feeling sorry for himself. “Curse my inability to perform manual labor!!,” is what he would also eventually write in his memoirs that chronicled his rise to glory, his fall from glory and his eventual successful run for the presidency of the impoverished warzone that is the Independent Republic of New Texas.

“If only I knew how to make and eventually market chocolate covered bacon on a stick!!”

Minutes before he was going to kill himself by firing a 12-gague shotgun away from his face, hoping the recoil would launch the butt of the gun in to his head fast enough to kill him painlessly, the thinker met the man that would change his life forever – the man that would one day, as the Vice President of the Independent Republic of New Texas, sign an executive order declaring moonshine as his country’s national food. The thinker met the doer.

The doer said, “Why so blue, smarty-pants?”

“I don’t know how to fabricate and market a product I’ve invented! Damn! DAMN! DAMN, ME!”

“What is this ‘product’ you be speaking of?”

“It’s brilliant. It’s glorious. It’s chocolate covered bacon on a stick.”

“Well, fuck me. I’d buy one of them. In fact, I’d buy 2 of them for the grand total of three-dollars, assuming that I was also promised ice cold water to wash it down with.”

“R–Really?”

“Fuck. Yes.”

“Awww, damn it all to Hades! Who am I kidding?! I could never fabricate such a wondrous piece of trans-fatty goodness!”

“I reckon I could.”

“Could you?!” said the Thinker with a glimmer of hope in his eye.

“Yeah, it’s bacon and chocolate on a stick. And I have an engineering degree from MIT. It just makes sense.”

“B—but how will we inform others of such a glory?”

“I don’t know. But I’ve got a monster truck.”

“Yes…yes. A monster truck.”

For a few short moments, they both stood in silence – a silence that was build to something grand.

“I think you and I will be together for a long, long time,” said the Thinker.

“You a fag?” said the Doer.

In all seriousness, this picture is glorious and it was actually taken in Iowa, not the independent republic of New Texas. F.Y.I., it’s a fake country