The Powers of BBQ

An out-of-shape superhero is a reliable barometer of a city's quality of life. You might think that a flabby protector indicates that crime is rare and shenanigans are held to a minimum. Makes sense. Sure, things are so quiet, our costumed pig can afford to let himself go a bit.

Maybe. Somewhere. But not in Suicidefood City.

In that blighted burg, the one pig who could keep crime and corruption away has thrown in with the forces he's supposed to be fighting! Like Buttman and Rubbin' before him, Pig Powers has grown fat on his own treachery!

And he doesn't even have the decency to hide this from his public. Nope, his potbelly's on proud display. (The rigors of crimefighting keep honest superheroes trim, but he has no shame!)

What's worse, though, than a caped crusader on the take is one who directly betrays the populace that depends on his protection: the pigs whose barbecuing he has permitted. Or even—ulp!—benefited from! That they should be marched to the grills is of no concern to him. Nor, we suspect, is his own eventual death and consumption.