Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Not technically suicidal perhaps, this pig occupies an even lower rung on the ladder of degradation. Clearly, he has made a pact with his would-be murderers: tending the grill that roasts his brethren in exchange for a few more weeks of miserable pre-death. The guilty rictus, the anxious eye, the ready spatula—this quisling is “living” on borrowed time and he knows it.
See how the red-yellow-orange oval of the logo—the “ring of smoke”?—encircles him, trapping him in a horrifying present. He is bound to his destiny until he, too, succumbs to the kiss of mesquite.
And note that he is not content to cook the remains of his family. He’s adjusting chicken limbs, cow muscles, and sausaged any-animal flesh on the grill. “What’s that, boss? You want it medium well? Whatever you say, boss! You’re the boss, boss!”
Seriously, what is this? We see these images so often, I assume they don’t even register. They have become cheap advertising shorthand, like aprons, neckties, and skateboards stand for motherhood, the “man’s world” of work, and rebellious youth, respectively. And yet, when we do look, what are we to make of this? Are these images compelling? Why? They are grotesque, and, like prison rape, a source of supposed humor right out of Dr. Mengele's jokebook.
That animal is helping us roast those other animals—and then he is gonna die, too! Har har!