Bacon bounce

Even as I describe it to you my mouth is watering in some kind of Pavlovian bliss, desperate to chow down on that bacon and egg butty that is winging its way to me even now.

The saliva wells up like thousands of tiny men had pushed barrels of it to the edge of my mouth's ramparts and then doused the unsuspecting taste buds with it.

The taste buds, trying to scale the heights of sensory overload castle, are knocked from their ladders and perches and tumble down only to be met by a veritable river of tomato sauce, 57 varieties ferociously attack the buds and wish to conquer them, who will win?

Swamped from beneath and with the down-pour not likely to desist, soon the taste buds send for reinforcements and they are quickly here in the shape of teeth and peristalsis.

Chomping relentlessly the teeth begin to force the attackers, the intruders, backwards, towards the merciless gullet with its infinite need to swallow.

There can be no escape for them there, not even using the taste buds as makeshift hand-holds, or even the rings of cartilage, they cannot be saved.

Down, down they plummet! Down into the stomach! Eventually they will make their way even further down until they are under the city, but those thoughts are not for lunch time.

'Erm, yeah, go on then, I'll have one.'



I make no assertions that this is in anyway factually, actually or biologically correct.