The meat merchants, as we have cataloged ad nauseam, are an inventive lot. Every long-dead cultural touchstone will be exhumed and given new life!
Thank goodness (or whatever) they have finally gotten around to 1987's Three Men and a Baby. (Or maybe it's the universally adored sequel?)
True, the resemblance isn't total. (None of the Three Men wears spectacles, as Left Pig does. And none of the Pigs has a Selleckian mustache. An outrageous oversight!)
In any event: Yuck.
The Pigs are welcoming the Lady to the Galax (Virginia) Smokehouse, cozying up to her. No doubt they are attempting to ingratiate themselves to her. Whom will she select for her evening meal? Will it be Glasses (he of the spontaneous sonnet), Apron (working stiff with a heart of gold), or Hair (the lothario of the bunch)?
The nauseous truth of suicidefoodism is such that we can only hope this is the nature of the Lady's choice. They're vying for the right to be cooked and eaten, right? And not, shall we say, squiring her? Right?
Required to choose between a sexual and a violent subtext, we actually hope for violence. This is what suicidefoodism has done to us. We are steeped in the cauldron of lesser evils.
(Thanks to Dr. Bea for the referral.)
Addendum: Are the Pigs of the same provenance as these?