Have you ever seen a more sporty pork rind? He's really working that visor! And the flair with which he handles his cracklebasket (as those little scooper things shall henceforth be called)!
In spite of his hip fashion sense and personal oomph, he's really just another employee of the R. Lapid porkrindery of Valenzuela (the Philippines). Only, one with more confidence and gusto than the average.
The way he points to himself with obvious pride—you know what he's thinking: that he wishes he could be reborn, just to be killed, butchered, skinned, chopped, and fried all over again.
"Join the team," he seems to say to potential pork rind associates. "Come with me beyond the veil that surrounds your world, and enter a pristine, yet greasy, place untouched by life! You'll get a viiisor."
And then it's up to each batch-of-pork-rinds-to-be (commonly referred to as a pig) to weigh the possibilities. What do they desire more: life, or a crunchy, disgusting post-life?