In an earlier post, I made a bold claim. I called bacon a terrorist.
Although my word should have been enough, I did not stop there. I presented evidence of the viciousness that only delicious strips of meat could muster up. I posted pictures of the damage that bacon inflicted on my face. I thought the case was a slam dunk but the hate mail I received accused me of making a twisted play on pork and Islam. If only it were that simple…
In rural Rwanda, not far from Niger where enriched uranium is so abundant it’s spread like peanut butter on toast, I suffered the ravages of a new terrorist threat — the cold shower. Unlike bacon, the cold shower has no ties to organized religion. It simply hates for the sake of hating. So bold is this chilling new threat that it mounts its attack on the most private of places during the most private of times.
The water fell on me like torture from the sky. My yelps were only interrupted with obscenities muttered through chattering teeth. ‘Manning up’ was no where to be found that morning. The shock was so severe that I forgot to scrub as I ducked in and out of the arctic stream. Once I had shivered most of dirt of, I called it quits.
I’ve heard the experience described as invigorating and I say you’d have to be daft to call it that. If I were to sum it up, I’d call it a terrorist.
Consider yourself warned.
