Glimpse the paradise of the devout suicidefoodist! The easy-to-handle miniature pig is perfectly comfortable sitting on the smoking grill. The overflowing... flask (?) of barbecue sauce has rendered the chef's hand... transparent?
Wonder piled on wonder!
Yes, the pig is finally freed from his bondage so that he might—at last—voluntarily cook himself! To stand upright (or sit, or whatever) instead of cringing. To demand the right to be eaten—and to receive it! To have a voice! To matter!
The pig, looking more like a demonic imp (or perhaps a gargoyle), has achieved his equality. He has arrived at the same place as his human friend. No more service entrance for him. No more "deliveries in the back, please." He is an invited guest as well as an ingredient.
The be-overalled man is likewise freed: freed from the brutal dominance that was his birthright. No more is this ugly business Man's burden. Now all share in the labors. Brothers at last! The lion has lain down with the lamb! The pig has plopped himself down upon the grill.
O, heaven on earth!
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