Let's hear it for Arapahoe Pig Roasters. This is some bare bones, back-to-basics suicidefoodist stuff right here.
Forget the theory, the grad-level coursework, the close readings of arcane texts. Arapahoe Pig Roasters is having none of it! Their talent is a force of nature. It just flows out from them like light from a candle, like music from a nightingale. It's a beautiful thing, that four-word formula for the suicidefood equivalent of joy:
"Happy pig in fire."
Pleased at his imminent death by fire, the pig wears an expression of astonished delight, as though he never dreamed his fondest wish would ever—could ever—come true!
The pig wasn't pushed. He didn't slip. He leapt. Joyously! Imagine children jumping into piles of autumn leaves. That's how our pig jumps into the fire: belly-first, and with childlike abandon!
Only a petty person—a (gasp!) vegetarian or (swoon!) vegan perhaps—would object. This is a pig at play, experiencing his true nature, reveling in all the happiness offered by the world. (Specifically, large fires and/or barbecue grills. This one's like a Trampoline of Fire!) Who are we to interfere? Hey, to each his own. It's all about personal freedom and self-expression. Self-immolation is his art.
Finally, to strike the proper note of casual contempt, Arapahoe Pig Roasters gives us this image. "See?" the picture says. "Even dead and crisp, piggy's having a blast! Har har! We even threw fruit on him!"