Not the first pig pirate—this was—but the fanciest. Captain Porkbeard is all done up in Pirate Chic, with the breeches, the coat, the hat, and the swashbucklingest belt buckle this side of Jamaica.
He might be an outlaw and a scoundrel, but he knows his place. And so he judges a pig's worth by its palatability, its usefulness to humans.
Remember, this is Suicidefoodland, where men are men and animals are… barely even objects. So the pirate, long a symbol of danger, dastardly deeds, and dark-hearted greed, is rendered a willing pawn. Yes! A pirate! He who bows before no one, who recognizes no law but his own, who epitomizes everything violent and free! This pirate is nothing more than a victim.
Thus is the power of suicidefoodism to bend everything—every vestige of wild nature, of power, of life—to its ghoulish interests.
Addendum: A kindred spirit?
Addendum 2 (12/05/10): And another?