Toot toot! Here comes Steamboat Bill on the shipshape S. S. Suicidefood! With a friendly clack, he waves his claw at the well-wishers lining the riverbank, face tendrils (?) flapping gaily like pennants.
The imagery is routine, but the subtext is ghoulish as ever. Our happy hero, loving life from the helm of his adorable tub, is steering her right into the cooking pot. There, as the paddlewheel churns helplessly, he'll consign himself to Davy Jones's locker to be "boiled with pride" (as Steamboat Bill's website puts it).
"Permission to come aboard, Cap’n?"
Granted! (Toot toot!)
"Permission to boil you and the crew alive, Cap’n?"
"Permission to tear you apart and suck the meat from your glistening carapace?"
We're denied even the opportunity to deliver the poor crawfish from a miserable existence. No, we're encouraged to take him at his fullest, when his life is smooth sailing!
If you doubt the grisly undertone of the action—and, really, how could anyone past the age of majority doubt what the proponents of suicidefoodism have declared so vigorously for so long?—behold this T-shirt design offered in the official Steamboat Bill's catalogue:
Pinch Me, Peel Me, Eat Me. There, in six words, is the fundamental theme of the suicide food worldview, along with the concomitant sexual connotations. Oh, suicidefoodists! Clean up your act!