We have discussed and dissected many strange happenings in the world of suicide food. From the Elvis-Pork Nexus to ungodly animal hybrids, we have traveled the warped byways of the human psyche with the eye of a clinician and the abandon of a gonzo journalist.
The theme of today’s report is startling only for how neatly it falls into place within the Movement’s fetid categories.
What first appears as outlandish as those salacious "food" animals eager to be ravished or near-endless streams of copycat pig icons comes into sharp focus after a moment's inspection.
Start with a pig (of course, with hot dogs and sausage it can be hard to know what-all is present). The pig wants to die for you. (Naturally.) Even after death, the pig wishes it could die all over again. (This is the essence of undead food, a topic previously covered.) But—yes, here's the trouble—hot dogs (and, to a lesser extent, sausages) are the mutts of the food world. Everything under the sun goes into them and they have a decidedly blue collar reputation. What's a dead, processed, casing-clad pig to do?
Work harder, that's what. And work harder they do. To overcome the prejudice against eating proletariat foods, the wieners, franks, and assorted links masquerade as society types dripping with good taste and cash.
Thus, the spats, top hats, ascots, and walking sticks. This strain of suicide food is doubly deceptive. Not only are we given the standard lie: the animals wish to die that you might indulge your every culinary whim. But we are asked to swallow a second lie: that they represent the finer things.
Furthermore, where they found frankfurter-sized garments and accoutrements remains deliberately obscure.
(Thanks to Dr. Portigal for the Gold Coast Dogs image. Dog House Sandwich Shop [the ascotted dandy] source.)
Addendum (6/01/08): Another wonderful example of the FWP! (Thanks to Urso for the photo.)