Forget the cactus. Forget the golden eagle. We are starting to believe that the cauldron is Mexico's dearest and most potent symbol. First it was these examples, and now this. The cauldron is powerful magic south of the border.
It is as though the cauldron is suicidefoodism's crucible, its vessel, the primary setting of its creation myth, the womb from which spring the tenets of a crooked philosophy. Our pig here—is he entering the cauldron or exiting, newly minted as food?
Or is he leaving such big thoughts to the big thinkers and simply enjoying himself? Because that's what it looks like. He is happy as a pig in muck. Or, to rephrase that old saw: happy as a pig about to be boiled alive! Just take a look at that welcoming, hail-fellow-well-met smile. This pig is having the time of (what's left of) his life!
(Thanks to Dr. Nedda for the referral and the photo.)
Addendum: Still more Cauldron Worship from Mexico, this example from Guanajuato. Only, if the pig is so darn feliz, why is he propping himself up on the rim of his "bathtub" and not going for a dunk in the old roiling boil like a good pig should? (Thank you for the photo, Dr. Larry.)