“Ha, ha!” You laugh, holding the bottle of bacon-flavored coffee syrup, because you find the idea of bacon funny. Then, a knock at the door. It’s the irony enforcer. He pushes his way past you, and refuses to leave your house until you drink enough cups of coffee that you use up all your bacon syrup. You start to cry on your third cup, and you don’t stop for two weeks, and you don’t think bacon is funny anymore, you think it’s a fatty part of a gross animal and you hate it.