The meat merchants will not rest until they have penetrated every conceivable market niche. Here, it would seem, they are going after the proponents (or perhaps merely the sympathizers) of polygamist clone cults.
And going after them hard!
The benevolent Husband/Leader, with his ceremonial burger flipper, proudly presents his harem of sows. (Sticklers might insist that the females are not actually identical, and should not, therefore, be referred to as "clones." To them we say only: Look past the trivial differences in hairstyle. Attend instead to the faces, proportions, and personalities—or the identically exhibited lack of same.)
All of them, even the deranged offspring (of Wife #2, we believe) are plumb tickled to be a part of the barbecue lineup.
Apparently, the purpose of this particular polygamist clone cult is to breed a nation of foodstuffs. Lo! Their reward is right here on Earth: death—quick and painless or not, either way—and then the Flames of the Grill.
Yea verily, life (or its nearest equivalent) is good! The harem will grow, the offspring will keep offspringing, and the grills will ever be fed!
(Thanks to Dr. Bea for the referral.)