The time has come again, regrettably, to leave behind the disingenuous sham that is suicide food, and stumble into a land of foulest honesty. We come here every 50 posts, for reasons we have long since forgotten, and stare goggle-eyed at the worst of the worst. For here we see beyond and beneath suicidefoodism's Big Lie. No one in this quarter bothers trying to make you believe the animals are complicit. Here they are not actors, but only objects.
(Visit our most recent foray when you're done.)
Chain Gang BBQ: For those of you already squeamish about the thought of exploiting prison labor, comes this piece of bad business. The pigs (surely sentenced to life) are herded into a work detail under the blistering sun. Behind them, they drag a new ball and chain: a hot, heavy, smelly barbecue.
No, we're not sure why the grinning warden is eating a bird's leg and not a rack of ribs.
Bringin' The Heat BBQ Team: After painting it with the blood of its offspring (we're assuming), an imp made of fire threatens to burn a pig alive. He's getting ready to touch the flame to the pig's tail, like setting a lit match to tinder, but the pig can hardly muster the will to care.
Miller's Bar-B-Que: Out there in southeastern Pennsylvania, they do things a little differently. When the nights lengthen and the stars dazzle, Manheimers like to plug in the ol' electric gun and chase themselves a chicken or two. It's a simple pastime that harkens back to a simple time. A time when a businessman could terrorize a bird without drawing dirty looks and jeers.
Angry Tom's BBQ: So is this what it looks like when Tom isn't angry? (When he follows his own advice, about forgoing wrath for barbecue.) Because—and we're not professionals—he looks a teensy bit furious. Maybe it's the way he's straddling his homing airplane, fork all agleam with malice, putting his foes to flight. We admit not following the scenario very well. Is the plane on the ground? (Was Tom grounded for rage-related reasons?) Are the cow, pig, and chicken running in the clouds?
See this post for a similar treatment of the theme—the fork-brandishing wolf chasing down his prey aboard a mechanical mount. Awfully specific, that theme.
Peg Leg Porkers: Getting drunk and risking your life for a good cause (?) by trying to stay one step ahead of rampaging bulls gets old. To inject a much-needed thrill into the spectacle, we recommend forcing a terrified pig—one with an inexplicable wooden leg—to take your place.
(Keeping score? This is the fifth instance of peg-legged pigs we've featured.)