If there are three things that go together better than blues, barbecue, and gymnastics, we can't imagine what they are.
Archery, waffles, and ikebana (the Japanese art of flower arrangement)? Demolition derby, aspic, and dance marathons? Corn mush, ping pong, and The Marriage of Figaro?
Try as we might, we can conceive of nothing that makes quite as much nonsense as the BBBQGI. For you see, in the warped world of Suicidefoodistan, nothing is coherent. Baffling is the new reasonable. Hence, a pig done up like the Blues Brothers sticks the landing on the sagging balance beam before tumbling onto the butcher's knife.
In the hushed auditorium, no one snickers when they see him. No one clears his throat nervously. No one shifts in her seat. Because this is run-of-the-mill insanity. While the portly pig takes his bows and blows kisses to the judges' table, the people applaud and lick their lips.