The Other White Meat

I must admit, I love pork. The kind of love that might be considered forbidden between a human and a walking, squealing thick slice of bacon. My salivary glands start pumping at the mere mention of pig. If I were on death row, my last meal would involve a skewered wild boar and a candied apple. I'd rather eat bacon than have sex most nights - especially if it's applewood smoked. But seeing that I'm now committed to saving pig lives and, instead, butchering root vegetables, I must pledge my love elsewhere. Rutabaga anyone?