Sunday, August 23, 2009

Festival of Cruelty 10

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to post #500 and the tenth installment of our Festival of Cruelty series!

By now, you know the drill: Every fifty posts, we descend into the sewers beneath Suicidefoodland, where things are even fouler. The feeble light thrown by the Movement's tepid illusions is extinguished. We are left gasping, eyes streaming. (Visit our most recent installment for a taste.) Gone are the lies that provide some with plausible deniability. These animals don't want it. They're not asking for it. They just want to make it all stop.

Red Pig B-B-Q: High drama at the barbecue joint! Not only high drama, but ruthless, bloody drama. It's practically Shakespearean! (With maybe a pinch of Wes Craven for texture.) A pig flees a cleaver-wielding madman. The pig speeds on teetering trotters. He thinks he's going to make it. Yes, he will escape. He will arrive at the inn, wrapped in warmth and safety. The fog parts. And then he sees it: the red corpse, suspended by infernal magic above the deathless flames. At that moment, he finally understands that he will die. He will die and be eaten. Fear is the tastiest marinade. (Thanks to Dr. Eddie Huffman for the photo.)



Bear's BBQ: Imitating the very best that humanity has to offer, Bumpkin Bear drags a terror-stricken pig toward the grill. The cruel fork in his paw promises an afternoon of torture. The bear—just look at that expression, equal parts smug and dumb!—might as well be taking out the garbage, for all the care he's putting into the procedure.




Oakdale Testicle Festival: It's a Festival of Cruelty tradition! The steer—or turkey!—clutching his mutilated crotch in horror, pain, and impotent rage! And really, is anything more heart-warming than that? Anything short of Abu Ghraib, that is.





Uncle Ernie's BBQ: What we think happened here is that someone, just for the hell of it, slipped the pig a bad dose of mescaline. That explains the god-awful vision of the barbecue with legs being ridden by a sombrero-wearing, lasso-twirling cactus. You'd run for your life, too! This image encapsulates an entire abominable worldview, as the pig tries to stay one step ahead of the demons conjured by his shattered sanity.




Frying Pan BBQ: Extreme hazing? Barbecue rape? We have no way of knowing and, moreover, wish we had never, ever seen this. "Smoke gets in our butts"? What in God's name is going on here? No, no, don't tell us. We still have some small shred of hope for humanity.

7 comments:

bazu said...

just passing through! your blog is a must-visit on Monday mornings, when my righteous vegan rage might be waning...

Joey said...

Congratulations on 500 posts! They have largely been awesome!

Gina said...

That steer/ox/? would be so cute reacting to something other than castration, like maybe a butterfly

warwak said...

Smoke gets in our butts!

Ouch, where's your rating. I say 5 nooses, just for the ass point of view. Same sex sodomy/bestiality with a smoking penis before devoring the corpse?

Ben said...

Representing murder food, and not suicide food, our Festival of Cruelty posts receive no rating.

Kristen M. said...

There is no hope for humanity...vegans are the rare few left with some form of sanity between their shoulders...it is Sodom and Gomorrah all over again with the smoke gets in our butts!

Cavall de Quer said...

I've said it before and I'll say it again - Live for Ever, Suicide Food!