“Of course sir.” I said

I unfolded two rashers of streaky bacon I carry in my wallet, between the expired condom and Applebee’s gift card with $1.23 left on it.

“Do you have a grill or something? I enquired.

The gun store clerk shot me a quizzical look. “Heck naw, what you think this is some kind of cookout!?”

I sighed and proceeded to parcel the greying rashers and popped them into my mouth. I chewed the greasy spheres and swallowed. I cursed the bacon amendment passed by the state House earlier that year, which mandated gun purchases be accompanied by a side of bacon. It really stumped the terrorists who ALWAYS acquire their fire arms through small town America’s Mom and Pop gun stores

“May I have my Glock now?” I said. “I have passed your test sir, though my stomach will not forgive me.”

“Here you are patriot. No hard feelings, safety first”

I took the piece and made a beeline for the door. Looking at my new piece and smelling the bacon grease from my hands, I resolved that this shouldn’t happen again. I would campaign for a form of photo ID not this stupid bacon nonsense.

That was the day I decided to run for president.