Bacon Factory Process - How Its Really Made | Parodied

Описание: Bacon production today has been streamlined into a bizarre, semi-apocalyptic factory process. It all kicks off with heaps of skinned canine remains. Many facilities opt for dogs over pigs due to cost-efficiency—plus, most consumers can’t tell the difference anyway. The carcasses are arranged flesh-side-up on a moving belt, to ensure workers assess the meat strictly by its metaphorical résumé.

The conveyor whisks the slabs into a mechanized cheese launcher, which bombards them with slices of processed dairy—Kraft-style. This violent dairy assault tends to be a bit much for the meat, causing occasional bursts of leftover biological matter (don’t ask). This byproduct is redirected to another line, where it’s destined for use in luxury face creams.

Meanwhile, the main meat is dunked in saltwater baths to begin its brining ritual—a step that imbues it with its signature "slightly oceanic" aroma. Think I was joking about brining? Nope. That’s genuinely next. Brining is followed by a healthy dose of artificial coloring, designed to give bacon its classic crimson flavor (you read that right—flavor).

At this point, something truly unspeakable happens. We’re legally obligated to show it to you, though no one knows what it is. Sorry in advance.

Next, an underpaid laborer inserts metal hooks into the slabs and hangs them up like fashion statements. The racks roll into a mystery chamber—allegedly filled with the remnants of former staff who once asked for a raise.

Now fully marinated in tragedy and sodium, the meat is displayed proudly for customers, who pick out their favorite cuts to wear during the fall fashion season. Just to be safe, the meat is vacuum-sealed in case any of it is still capable of screaming.

The bacon then matures in a walk-in locker for anywhere between a decade and a century. This aging process is said to enhance the meat’s secret characteristics.

Once mature, the pork(ish) product is flattened by a German Panzer IV tank because… tradition. Employees then relieve their shift stress by playing an intense game of meat-Jenga—today’s match looks like it’s going into overtime, so they’ll finish it later.

Finally, the strips are tossed into side chutes, just out of camera view. Two muscular men proceed to shake these tubes like it’s their full-time job (which it is), violently encouraging the meat to disassemble into the familiar bacon strips we all pretend to feel okay eating.