Thank you, Jack the Ribber, for giving us this opportunity to return to one of our favorite topics: undead food.
Undead suicide food is former animals in whom the drive to die was so insistent, so much a part of their identities, it survived even death. Thus, we see suicidal hot dogs, suicidal chops, suicidal hamburgers, and now suicidal ribs. It was… well, not natural exactly, but let's say inevitable.
Jack is seething not merely with flavor, but also with an obsessive hatred for himself, the living, everything! Look at that face—the eyebrows drawn down in rage, the tongue sticking out. Even his cute cowboy hat looks mad! And as he balefully regards those who would finally love him, warding them off with a paintbrush loaded with blood, he can't help but chant his woefully inappropriate slogan: Bone Lickin' Good!
That Jack should identify with a murderer of note and not, say, a famous suicide (Sylvia Plath, for instance), is testament to his general mental breakdown. But have sympathy. He is dead, after all.
(Thanks to Dr. Squeakyrat for the photo.)