Truly, is there any safer, more tranquil spot than the arms of a butcher? The loving embrace of the butcher can banish the cares of the world. Such comfort, such serenity. Who among us hasn't found an oasis within those burly, encircling arms?
The antique signboard here depicts this same, universal experience.
Pay no mind to the twisted, infanticidal subtext. Give no thought to the fact that this butcher's last act—before clambering onto the slab himself—is to render his own grandson to The Machine. (Grandson? Of course! The family resemblance is uncanny!)
Of course, both pigs—victim and aggressor—are giggling. Who wouldn't make merry in the face of the destruction of his entire line? "It's the end of the world as we know it," Grandad sings, catching his breath, "and I feel fine."
We try not to repeat ourselves, to hold our tongues, to keep from asking: Why are images like this so widespread? How on earth could they possibly succeed in whetting the appetite?
(Thanks to Dr. Kiki Maraschino for the referral and the photo.)
Addendum (3/17/08): No matter the theme, the "visionaries" of suicidefoodism will repeat it. Grandfather offering up his grandchild as a sacrifice? Here we see it again! Yes, yes, the pedants will argue that the pig is not actually Granddaddy's grandchild. But who can argue with evidence so plain?