In this case, however, our vote goes to "certifiable." Look at that swollen belly puffed up with pride. The pig looks… happy. At peace. Just knowing that his skin will soon be pelletized and turned into a bagful of Lowest Common Denominator has finally given him a sense of belonging, of true self-worth.
The Evans fold is replete with similarly morbid characters. The gluttonous pig scarfing down a bowl of (ulp) pork rinds. Bad enough when humans are driven to such extremes, but for a pig to munch on the humble—so, so humble—remains of his fellows...
And then there's the Hearty Hog himself. He is a veritable Party Animal, so eager to sample and be sampled. Let the
Pork rinds, cracklins, scrunchions, scratchings. We won't ask you to follow us into the hellish realm we discovered when we undertook our investigations. Know this: the tale of these "foodstuffs" is best left to the imagination. Oh, we knew what pork rinds were, all right. But the black arts by which they are conjured up—and the foul practice by which their many forms are distinguished—are not for the Good and Just to understand. They involve skin—sometimes hair. And incantations, presumably, and the calling forth of the Restless Dead. But you wouldn't know any of this to behold the Evans Food imagery.
Finally, there is this benighted creature, whose motto is pure ambiguous misery: