A still image doesn't do this banner from the Delmarva Poultry Institute's website justice. For, as a single, unmoving graphic, this is hardly remarkable. Yes, it's tragic that the dear little chick regards DPI without trepidation, indeed with keen and alert interest—with love? Sadly, we acknowledge that such mascots are not only uncounted, but also, we fear, uncountable.
When animated, the image reveals its true import. The chick steps gaily forward, kicks the farmyard grit from her feet, wiggles her wings, and then disappears. Thus is the suicidefoodist's mind made plain.
The brief film fantastique constitutes a poetic explication of the dream of the Movement:
In it, the chick is merely a portion in an inexhaustible supply of willing meat. (Oh, the rapture of the transformation from individual to substance!) She faces her fate with enthusiasm and then vanishes, making room for the next batch. She is destined to die, an indistinguishable innocent, never to be mourned, ever to be replaced. Automatically is she destroyed, and automatically is she reborn.
It's a suicide food miracle!
(Thanks to Dr. superweed for the referral.)