Representing an outfit from the blues-loving Kansas City as they do, Cowtown's pig and cow are remarkably upbeat.
Looming over the skyline like a crimson colossus, the cow is intent not on city-wide destruction, or even escape.
No, he's only here to sing Cowtown's praises. Of course, it would make more sense, musically- and, you know, logically-speaking, for the cow to be singing the blues, but, well, he really thinks that barbecue rocks. So what's he supposed to do?
The pig, on the other hand, is motivated by narcissism more than a love of the blues. Or rock 'n' roll. Or whatever. He's got a guitar, too, but it's all about him.
But wouldn't you know it—this one's so indoctrinated by the suicidefoodist ethic that he likens himself to a product intended to be rubbed into a slab of pig ribs. A slab of his ribs. His mind has gone rotten. Can you make it out, the word balloon there? "Sweet and Hot. Like Me."
They could run, but they stay and sing. About being eaten.