Hog and Fowl, together again, traveling the highways and byways of the Golden State.
Hog, self-satisfied, confident, debonair. (See the way he sticks his pinkies up while clutching his silverware? That's breeding is what it is.) Fowl, up for anything, a showboater, his fright-wig cockscomb askew. And, for some reason, those red wristbands—his wacky trademark.
They ply the state, from San Francisco to L.A., broadcasting their tasty dead animal message to everyone they pass. Why, they've even been known to show up at a free Gary "The Dream Weaver" Wright concert! Talk about range!
Proudly, they announce their intention to sell as many varieties of sausage as any Gary Wright concert-goer could want: bangers, kielbasa, hot links, anduie (sic!—surely they meant andouille?), even bratworst (sic, sic, deliciously sic!). Again, versatility is the watchword. This salesmanship is standard suicidefoodist procedure, of course. Our nation is choked with animals eager to announce their supposed deliciousness. Hog and Fowl are merely two among many, drops in the ocean.
And yet. There's something about the slogan on Hog's bibkin. Something about Hog's self-satisfaction. He dines on pork, knowing all the while that pig meat "rules." Slyly, he shares this knowledge with you. With all of us. Hog rules, too, and after he's dead he will rule all the more.
(Thanks to Dr. Dark Meat for the referral and photo.)