Meatloaf, Why You Do This To Me?

Remember in The Exorcist when Father Karras goes to see his mother in the hospital and she's all, Why You Do This To Me, Dimi? Well, damn it, that's how I feel about this effing meatloaf.

Oh, sure, you look luscious, you bacon covered bastard, and you smell great. But then, when I sink my teeth into you, why do you taste vaguely like Comet-scented meat? That meatloaf was covered in half a package of bacon, by God. Bacon I could have otherwise fried up all crispy-like, and, you know, jammed into my mouth.

I should have known. I have never liked meatloaf. Well, that's not strictly true. There was a meatloaf I made based on an Emeril Lagasse recipe that I thought was swell-- which is saying a lot, because I don't really like Emeril's shtick-- but apparently my husband thought was the equivalent of meat-covered vomit. Since he knows I am a fragile wildflower, he did not admit this to me until a year after the fact.

My mom used to make meatloaf and I hated it, but I assumed that was because my mother used to make all sorts of appalling things with ground beef. Normally, my mother is a dynamite cook, but there are three hamburger based dishes in her repetoire that make me go pale.
1. Hamburger Noodle Casserole-- like chop suey, but with egg noodles. Please. I can't even discuss it.
2. Stuffed Peppers- what I imagine might be served in Soviet-era cafeterias: greyish green peppers, rice, hamburger, and extremely thin tomato sauce, the kind you get from a can of Hunt's.
3. Meatloaf- grey, nondescript, a little dry. The food equivalent of mild depression.

Meatloaf, I am terribly, terribly disappointed in you. I want you to sit in the sad chair and think about what you've done.