She Thinks My Slabs Are Sexy

No, we don't know who "she" is who thinks his, um, slabs are sexy. Does it matter? The pig takes pride in his ribs as edible objects, and whether he imagines a potential mate or consumer relishing his ribs hardly seems to matter. And this, of course, presupposes that his lover and consumer are different people. Alas, we have learned to our endless regret that the two categories—predator and paramour—need not be mutually exclusive.

So. Fine. Whatever.

The pig is impressing his lover-eater. It's really the central theme of suicidefoodism, played out in the form of a blue collar pig with well-defined anatomy.

His masculinity, his fitness as a sexual partner, and his ultimate purpose as a commodity—all are achieved simultaneously. He is a stud! He is a virile foodstuff! He is all things to all people! Or at least to all people who want to eat him.