Once again, America's meat-merchants dredge the swamp of humanity's darkest desires and create something unforgettable.
Believe us: we tried to unsee this. But it will not go away.
To sell pork sandwiches, the freethinkers at White Castle have turned to that oldest of ideas: Man's sexual hunger for pigs. And that led them, in turn, to that not-quite-oldest of quasi-striptease movies, 1983's Flashdance.
Misogyny, animal-hatred, and mental illness combine to glorious libido-killing, appetite-deadening effect.
Whereas Jennifer Beals pulled the chain and sexy water drenched her sexily, the pig pulls the chain and sticky barbecue sauce spatters all over the place awfully. In what any rational person would regard as thoroughly, practically mathematically, medically unsexy, the pig is trying to appeal to our passions by strutting into the flames. It's suicide as flirtation.
(Thanks to Dr. Amber for the referral.)