Oh, those motoring, pleasure-seeking pigs!
Let us pause to consider the newly documented complex known as DPS (Driving Pig Syndrome).
Capable of operating a motor vehicle, of obtaining their own freedom by means of the internal combustion engine, still they remain tethered to the industry that enslaves them. They appreciate their fine retro and/or muscle cars more than life itself.
Indeed, they are fully equipped for self-actualization, with their guitars and sunglasses! They are ready to rock, to roll, to hit the stroll! They could blow this jerkwater berg in two seconds flat… if only they had a life force that continued to function.
These two (or, um, this one?) do themselves up with leather jackets and shades and assume as much attitude as a suicidal "food" animal can muster.
Their rides are mere ornaments, outward signs of their inner emptiness. As long as they can glide up to the barbecue in a sweet machine, there to surrender themselves to the eternal freedom of nothingness, they're happy.
We can summarize the personality disorder at the heart of DPS by misquoting Robert Browning: A pig should put the pedal to the metal and race toward death, or what's a heaven for?
Addendum (10/24/09): Another pig behind the wheel and his (human!) companion, who holds aloft the ribs she has torn from his chest. Keep your eyes on the road now.
Addendum 2 (4/25/10): It's spare, but it bespeaks class.
Addendum 3 (10/02/10): Is there any music dearer to suicidefoodists than wheels and squeals harmonizing in a crescendo of awfulness? Hey, this one's a lot like the Cadillac Ranch Bar-B-Q guy!