In keeping with the Tetherd Cow Ahead tradition of keeping regular readers up to date with the latest innovations in cured pig-flesh based comestibles (such as the Pork Martini, Pig Brain Aerosol1, and Pork Cake), we present to you today for your culinary delectation Torani Bacon Syrup. Yes folks, it’s true. Now you can enjoy your favourite crispy smoked ham flavours in an easy-to-use syrup!

That’s not so bad, I hear you protest, but then you haven’t yet read some of the Torani serving suggestions:

Torani Bacon syrup adds savory bacon flavor to cocktails, lattes, sauces and more.

Lattés? Lattés? Am I the only one who hasn’t been missing a salty pork flavour in my coffee? But the innovations don’t stop there! Torani also suggests you might be tempted by the thought of a Bacon Bloody Mary2, a Bacon Milkshake or (blasphemy!), a Bacon Manhattan. There’s even a recipe for a (gag) ‘Bacon Alexander’ (at least it doesn’t have cream in it).

Scanning the Torani products page, I see that they really have quite some selection of syrups there. My feeling is, though, that with this latest product they’re attempting to live high on the hog by making a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.

Still, I’m willing to be convinced – a Cow Medallion for the best recipe involving Torani Bacon Syrup. I will consider the word ‘best’ to mean whatever I think it should, in this context. Laughs will rate highly, but astute culinary skill will count too.


Thanks to Guy for discovering this gem!


  1. OK, so that’s not something you’re supposed to digest, but who knows what pork fiends will do! []
  2. I guess I could see that… []

You may remember that a little ways back I told you about a film called Shriek of the Mutilated, which, aside from having one of the best movie titles ever, is a work of cinema so terrible that it’s a must see. My friend Sean points out that io9 has a short clip up at the moment which allows you to get a taste of the full awfulness of this creation.

As well as some truly frightful yeti action, the snippet features some awesome ‘girl-in-lingerie-terror’ acting. Truly, girls, you need to watch this. Among other things you will learn that if you are trapped in a bathroom by an insane over-sized teddybear-with-fangs, you should flap ineffectually at the window with your hands and pull your hair across your face a lot.

Apparently SOTM is now available on DVD. This is something that the world has needed for many decades.


*You have to see the film.


The capacity for stupid people to part with huge amounts of cash on schemes concocted by morally bankrupt swindlers never ceases to amaze me. It’s as if there’s a reservoir of schmucks out there who are just busting to empty their bank accounts into the pockets of criminals. Here on The Cow this is very familiar territory. Over the years we’ve seen the duplicitous Shoo!TAG™ scammers bilking all and sundry with their nutso pest repellent scheme; the smarmy Steorn with their ‘free energy’ shell game (a scam that’s centuries old in one form or another); the Space Diamond fraudsters who promise untold wealth via implausible interstellar retrieval schemes. And the list goes on.

Sometimes I like to play this game in my head where I make up the weirdest scheme I can imagine and speculate on whether people would pay money for it. For instance, I’ll look out my window and see something like, oh, let’s see – bird shit – and then make it the centre of some daft scam. I’ll imagine, for instance, that there’s some place that offers to rub bird shit on your face for money. Maybe I’ll even elaborate on it a bit to make it even more implausible – maybe it’s not just bird shit they’re offering to smoosh all over your dial but, oh, let’s see something really off the wall… I’ve got it! Nightingale shit!

Hahahaha! No-one would believe that in a BILLION years. No-one on the PLANET is dumb enough to fork out for that.



Dear Cowpokes. Sometimes one is beset with a problem so vexing and, er, personal that it’s difficult to know exactly where to turn for help. One such problem is Anal Haunting, and that is the topic of today’s discussion.

Yes, you read correctly – today we’re going to examine the problem of what to do if a ghost takes up residence in your ass.1

Over on Haunted America Tours someone by the name of Maryanna Chatelaine Moresby addresses the issue of ‘Sex after ghost hunting – exorcisms of a womb or anal ghosts: And when is the right time to have sex afterwards?’

You think I’m making it up, right? Or that someone’s having a leg pull, right? Oh no dear Acowlytes – by now you should surely know that when it comes to woo-woo, there is nothing under the sun that I could invent that would be as daffy as things some people really believe.

Maryanna has an awful lot to say on the subject of paranormal sex and I simply can’t cover it all – I don’t have the time and besides I’m almost exhausted from laughing so much. So for the purposes of this post, I’ll focus on the terrible ordeal of Maryanna’s husband, Riley, who, it appears has a chronic anal ghost problem. This is Riley:

A Puff of Light

The bright flare at the bottom left of Riley is an anal apparition. Hey! STOP LAUGHING! This is serious. According to Maryanna:

My husband Riley has had an anal ghost infection on several occasions in the past few years. The phenomena can be very disturbing and unnerving. And the word frightening does not equate to the level of panic it caused me.

Riley, it seems, is a ghost hunter, and his nocturnal adventures appear to have had some unexpected consequences:

At night laying inn bed after a ghost hunt with his group he would begin to let out gas. The stench was horrible. It smelt like something dead and raw sewerage.

After ghost hunting. R-i-i-i-g-h-t… Just in case you couldn’t make it out, Riley’s shirt says: If you can’t stand the heat, go get me a beer. I’m thinking that Riley has the grin of a man who really likes his beer. And his curry.

But wait! Maybe I’m being hasty…

It even formed word with the sounds of his flatulence. And it went as far as cursing out individuals in restuarants, Church and a funeral of a close relative.

Yeah, sure – I know how that goes: “I swear! Maryanna! It wasn’t me it was the ghost!”

The intense passing gas attacks my husband had actually produced audible words that clearly sounded like a man speaking with a gruff or raspy voice.

Is it just me, or is that something people want to hear a recording of? I mean really, the day my arse starts forming legible words, you can be sure I won’t just be fondly recalling the memory on some website. But what kinds of things did Riley’s sphincter have to say?

It would say ” You Are F——g Doomed!” in a farty sounding voice like sound. Or, “Mutha F__K, He Is mine until the day he dies!”

Yes, OK, well, I can see why that might not go down so well at a funeral. Maryanna goes on:

at first I thought it was Riley just playing games with me, throwing his voice like a ventriloquist, until the black diarrhea started while he was still asleep in his favorite chair.

Erk. Okk. I mean. Black diarrhea? Please! The image of Riley and his favourite chair soaking up a puddle of black diarrhea is really something I wish hadn’t formed in my brain..

If the voice from his anus was not enough when it grabbed the sheets and starting pulling it inside him! I was petrified and chilled to the bone, ready to run for the hills.

STOP LAUGHING! Riley is sitting in his favourite chair covered in black diarrhea, sucking sheets up his bum and you’re laughing. Some people.

Besides suffering from intense pain my husband would feel it move inside him like a clawing animal. Once it even blew out the candles on my mothers birthday cake from across the room. And the stench was like a dead skunk and a refrigerator that had lost power for two weeks and was full of food.

Wha… I… cggglfl… how? And… Truly I am at a loss for words. I feel that the only option we can take at this point is to take Maryanna’s lead and pray to St Michael:

† Oh great Angel St. Michael hear my prayer.
Please in your divine justice and wisdom remove this ghost that infest my bowels and anus.
Remove this foul ghost from me as you did the Devil from Heaven.
In your wisdom bless me and free me from this evil affliction now and forever.
† Amen

But even if St Michael successfully intercedes, the road to a happy and normal life is still fraught with difficulties:

After the removal of a real womb or anal ghost it’s not just you that might not feel like making love!

That’s right Cowpokes – an anal ghost problem shared is an anal ghost problem halved! If an anal ghost has been ruining your sex life, you might want to take some of Maryanna’s tips for dealing with the aftermath:

•Talk to each other about how you feel. Voice your fears!

•Be gentle with each other and build up to things gradually. Avoid the anus and vagina if it was recently haunted.

•Avoid penetration of these areas and concentrate on caressing and oral sex the first few times. The ghost might try to return or another take it’s place.

•Spend more time on kissing, caressing and foreplay to aid arousal.

•If you have dispelled a Vaginal ghost: Until your hormone levels are back to normal your vagina won’t lubricate itself very well, so try using a water-soluble lubricant.

•If you are in pain from a an anal ghost removal You may also find a warm bath and lubricant will help.

•Try different positions if you feel discomfort. And keep an eye in a mirror to see if you can see the ghost trying to return.

And please, if you get any pictures, you know where to send ’em.

  1. And by this I don’t mean ‘in your donkey’. That’s an altogether different (and, in the light of today’s discussion it has to be said, somewhat prosaic) kind of haunting. []

On my morning bike ride there’s this great house among the glimpses of suburbia that I get from the bush track. It looks so bizarrely out of place among the brick veneer and fake Federation that I can’t imagine what its builders were thinking…

Violet Towne doesn’t quite understand why I’m so enamoured of it, but then she doesn’t see it like I do…

As you know from recent tales, Violet Towne and I are having our house painted. Now that our home is slowly being illuminated in refreshing shades of clean brightness, we’re beginning to truly appreciate the awfulness of the colours that we’ve been living with up till now.

Take the former colour of the walls of our bedroom. Really, I find it hard to describe to you the true repulsiveness of the hue to which the the previous owners had chosen to awaken each morning. In fact, to my mind it was something that belonged less in the class of pigment than it did in the category of stain, being as it was a shade reminiscent of the flesh of three week-old dead salmon.

What kind of decision process must someone go through to choose a truly hideous colour for the decoration of their place of habitation? Where do they even find the paint to render their walls in such nauseous squalor; colours that certainly never appear on any paint chart I’ve ever seen?

Pondering these questions leads me to suspect that there is a whole class of paint swatches unavailable to People of Taste. Something kept out of sight under the counter with the pebblecrete brochures and garden gnome catalogues. A dog-eared little booklet that remains safely tucked away until a customer with the just the right damp-palmed, sweat-stained, combed-over demeanour enters the shop.

Something with pages that look like this:

Cowlux Colours

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