Bacon! Now with Extra Justice!

You know, I have had weird dreams. I mean really, really strange dreams. Dwarfs with lightsabers, Nazis on surfboards fighting ninjas.
I once had a dream where the car I was driving had wheels made of Oreos. Took me forever to get home on account of me snacking on the tires.
But last night. Last night I had the mother of all dreams.
First I am going to start with the Raccoons. They were the first sign that something was wrong. I awoke to find the window of the kitchen pried open, little footprints all over the house. Up the walls, over the counters.
The food still in its containers left me a trifle puzzled.
If the furry little burglars were not after food, then what?
Suddenly, with a sense of foreboding I approached my X-Box 360 console. My games were askew.
I knew it! They were after my games!
Again.
But ,wait. The games were still there, safe in their plastic DVD cases. Scattered a bit to be sure but otherwise unharmed. Little pellets of Raccoon poo showed that something startled them. They left in a hurry.
They were afraid.
But what could strike fear into the heart of a hard core gamer Raccoon?
Only one thing.
Ruskies.
As I rush out into my yard and see people running in fear.
“Russians! They’re everywhere!”
The Russians, apparently, are coming.
The next thing I know, I am on the roof of a tall building, my squad mates calling out enemy positions as they try to surround us. The wail of sirens echoing in the distance. and the roar of troop transports overhead spilling parachuting Spetsnaz.
Holy Eisenhower!
Its raining Commies!?!
“I have movement on my right! Engaging targets now!”
Kowalski, my sniper, is zapping approaching infantry from the top of our really tall skyscraper like a kid with a magnifying glass.
Yes. Kowalski.
Of course there is a Kowalski in my unit! The Kowalski is always the crazy bad ass. Every unit needs one. I can hear the staccato of machine gun fire getting closer. Bullets crack into the cinder blocks we are taking cover behind and I can feel the bite of concrete fragments pelting me.
The smell of cordite is thick in the air.
Any minute now I expect the enemy to start raining mortars on my position.
It’s what I would do.
And then I see it. Shining in the early morning light, right next to an air conditioning condenser unit.
Lying there in all its greasy glory.
It’s bacon.
Glowing magically, it calls to me like Excalibur to Arthur, like donuts to fat kids, like interns to … well… everyone in Congress.
“My God. It’s a machine gun made of bacon.” I scramble over to it, ducking as rounds cut the air over my head.
I pick it up.
Kowalski, who stood up to reload, sees the gun in my hand and this manic, exultant look blossoms across his face, “He’s got the bacon gun!” He plants his boot on the edge of the building and just starts blasting away, laughing maniacally.
For the record, Kowaslki is awesome.
I stand next to him, aiming the bacon gun, and open fire. It kicks hard but, because its not that big, I am able to keep it on target. I can see little puffs of dirt where the rounds are striking below me.
I lead an advancing column of enemy soldiers with my withering fire and I see them drop. Others run screaming “Salo! Salo! Ahhhhh!” in terror.
The ammunition never seems to run out. I wave the gun all over the broken ranks of soldiers beneath our position, the smell of bacon filling my nostrils.
I can hear the rest of the men in my squad cheering as enemy forces break ranks and run. Somewhere behind me a massive American flag is unfurling, I hear it snapping crisply in the breeze.
Dawn has broken.
The enemy is fleeing.
America is safe and old Glory flies high.
I love the smell of bacon in the morning.
Smells like…. victory!