tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53964383390856578822024-03-19T01:48:32.640-07:00Suicide FoodAnimals that desire to be eaten. Sickening.Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365355509420961754noreply@blogger.comBlogger929125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5396438339085657882.post-21753078630637142752011-12-27T00:01:00.000-08:002011-12-27T00:01:01.416-08:00Five Years: an announcementHello, everyone. (Anyone?) It has now been just over five years since our <a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2006/12/leftys-bbq_20.html">first post</a>—written on December 20, 2006—and since then we've logged and chronicled more (way more!) than a thousand images of animals delighted to be killed, and sometimes despoiled and tortured, for you.<br />
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Our goal when we started the Suicide Food blog was to reveal just how horrifyingly absurd (and repetitive!) meat culture is, and just how much it depends on bizarre beliefs for its legitimacy. We envisioned an endless catalog of marketing strategies, an eternally unspooling record of a subculture's tastes, dreams, and drives. We have now amassed the Internet's foremost clearinghouse of suicidefoodist imagery, not that the competition was exactly fierce.<br />
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But we've reached our limit. Oh, there are more shills out there. The world will never run out of animals living for their chance to die, animals who find their highest calling in the mad dash for death. Our files are stuffed with literally hundreds of unused images, with more uncovered or emailed to us all the time. But we're done. We're hanging up our scolding cape.<br />
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We can't say whether this is a permanent retirement or just a sabbatical. We might be back in a week. Or a month. Maybe we'll adopt a lackluster once-a-week posting schedule. We might pop in from time to time with especially vile specimens from suicidefoodism's wretched workshop. Or we might just slink off to embark on another grand/stupid obsession.<br />
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We still invite your contributions.<br />
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If you'd like to explore the archives, click on the "suicidal tendencies" in the list to the right. The "5 noosers" are always good for a cringe. And the link below "from the case files" directs you to a randomly selected post with every click.<br />
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Until we see each other again, keep looking to the <strike>stars</strike> suicidal animals.<br />
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<br />Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365355509420961754noreply@blogger.com148tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5396438339085657882.post-91343179796270062572011-12-25T00:01:00.000-08:002011-12-25T00:01:01.646-08:00Christmas City Competition BBQ team<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-B4OxAn3CFzs/TvZURVTtoFI/AAAAAAAAILU/vH1nlSiCVJI/s1600/christmascitybbqteam.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-B4OxAn3CFzs/TvZURVTtoFI/AAAAAAAAILU/vH1nlSiCVJI/s1600/christmascitybbqteam.png" /></a></div>
It's a Christmas tradition in these parts: Santa hitches the flying pigs to his magic barbecue and takes to the skies.<br />
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At every house they pass, Santa frees one of his wonderful pigs, who tumbles down the chimney, incinerating himself in the fireplace. Oh, don't worry! These are miracle pigs; they regenerate endlessly, until every home on Earth has a dead pig of its own!<br />
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Which is why the pigs are every bit as jolly as Saint Nick. On this night, they get to die eternally (well, a billion or so times each), again and again, reconstituted above the rooftops and readied once more for death.<br />
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Ho ho ho!<br />
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Take a moment to visit the ghosts of suicidefood Christmases past—<a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2010/12/rudolphs-reindeer-meat.html">2010</a>, <a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2009/12/beefcember-fest.html">2009</a>, and <a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2007/12/joulunkinkku.html">2007</a>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a></div>Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365355509420961754noreply@blogger.com96tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5396438339085657882.post-90955672770188007212011-12-23T00:01:00.000-08:002011-12-23T00:45:00.837-08:00Colman's Instant Beef Gravy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eCVbIHIpD9U/TvQZFDfsfvI/AAAAAAAAIK8/ADXjbrjcSyE/s1600/colmans1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="173" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eCVbIHIpD9U/TvQZFDfsfvI/AAAAAAAAIK8/ADXjbrjcSyE/s320/colmans1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Things are different in Australia—<a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2007/04/ac-butcher-leichhardt-sydney-australia.html">profoundly</a>, <a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2010/08/sipahh-dairy-digression.html">mystifyingly</a>, <a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2011/01/luv-duck.html">adorably</a>, <a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2008/05/unidentified-restaurant-in-rockhampton.html">offputtingly</a> different—so there's no reason this should startle us.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">But it does.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;">Because, to demonstrate the agreeable flavor of their meat-based food moistener, the Colman's Instant Beef Gravy people have introduced us to a beef paste-born bovine reincarnation springing forth from his sacred gravy boat. Look at him, </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;">freed from Death's grim shackles, </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;">leaping above the table top, destined to splash himself all over your plate! </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Of course, it's only what any right-thinking animal offered a second chance at life would seek out: not escape, but a quick trip back to the conveyor belt of consumption and nothingness.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Thus has suicidefoodism ever represented it. So eager are the animals to die that their most numinous vocation is not to die once, but to return to life to die again. The second death is sweeter, surely, because they rush into it with eyes open. Having already savored their own destruction, they hasten back to their utter negation, the no-time and no-place where they are finally at home.</span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UQZy0RxnFII/TvQc8JTCVOI/AAAAAAAAILI/D7QhRkXZFW8/s1600/colmans2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="110" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UQZy0RxnFII/TvQc8JTCVOI/AAAAAAAAILI/D7QhRkXZFW8/s200/colmans2.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">And so Zombie Gravy the Bull soars. He cavorts and poses. He dances and sings. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">And what a song it is! For reasons we can't begin to explain (no, not even with all our big words and pointy-headed ideas), he croons "I like the way you moo!" He likes the way <i>we</i> moo? (We weren't aware we were mooing.) But you try arguing with a reanimated bull made of gravy.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">See </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iy2ZlAxM74s">the whole thing</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> for yourself. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(Thanks to Dr. Julian for the referral.)</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a><br />
<br />Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365355509420961754noreply@blogger.com54tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5396438339085657882.post-84327378919141304522011-12-21T00:01:00.000-08:002011-12-21T15:53:34.913-08:00Suicidefood Book Report: Baxter, the Pig Who Wanted to Be Kosher<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxjq3nip-Y350wT6ypD3JSruK-RSBN_jwGNLMkh5SwCd7S3Nk5dr_jX1lqmFebwZIJAX-3hHewKUPcLzGC7n34lFDB1Sui_0Z-kjWTSgRPAKNk7N2gfFznGjJfPqRryqhYjN9iarbNWjnG/s1600/baxterthepig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxjq3nip-Y350wT6ypD3JSruK-RSBN_jwGNLMkh5SwCd7S3Nk5dr_jX1lqmFebwZIJAX-3hHewKUPcLzGC7n34lFDB1Sui_0Z-kjWTSgRPAKNk7N2gfFznGjJfPqRryqhYjN9iarbNWjnG/s200/baxterthepig.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
In this, our fourth suicidefood book report, we continue our tradition of dabbling at the surface of books we haven't fully, completely finished. Or perhaps even begun. (Reacquaint yourself with our previous reports: <i><a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2010/01/suicidefood-book-report-animals-make-us.html">Animals Make Us Human</a></i>, <i><a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2009/08/suicidefood-book-report-endgame.html">Endgame</a></i>, and <i><a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2007/09/punk-farm.html">Punk Farm</a>.</i>)<br />
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Our subject this time around is <i>Baxter, the Pig Who Wanted to Be Kosher</i> (<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Baxter-Pig-Who-Wanted-Kosher/dp/1582463158">Tricycle Press, 978-1582463155</a>) by Laurel Snyder, illustrated by David Goldin.<br />
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<i>[Editor's note: It's possible—just </i>maybe<i>—that, in relying on a particular source, we may have misrepresented the nature of the book in question, as thoughtful commenters have lovingly pointed out. <strike>Integrity</strike> Laziness compels us to keep the following as originally written.]</i><br />
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According to the blurb at amazon.com, it would appear this charming picture book is actually a chilling tale of premature animal dementia (PAD). As they put it:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Baxter desperately wants to experience Shabbat dinner, the special Friday-night meal that ushers in the Jewish day of rest. [...] When he learns that pork is a forbidden food according to Jewish law, he stuffs his face with kosher pickles and raisin challah, hoping to become kosher. He even tries, unsuccessfully, to become a cow."</blockquote>
And you're <i>surprised</i> that suicidefoodism lingers? That it spreads like illness? That it lurks in the forgotten corners of the cultural hive, waiting waiting waiting to regroup, to regrow, to re-emerge and conquer!<br />
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Baxter—dear, foolish Baxter—wants so badly to experience everything the humans experience that he thinks nothing of attempting to make himself edible. The adorable string of misadventures he embarks on have at their center a trusting pig's desire to make himself the centerpiece of their holiday celebration. Not, you understand, to finagle an invitation, but to make his very flesh suitable for his hosts' consumption.<br />
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(Thanks to Dr. RandiJM for the referral.)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a>Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365355509420961754noreply@blogger.com39tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5396438339085657882.post-74442500429494015442011-12-19T00:01:00.000-08:002011-12-19T00:01:01.774-08:00Pleasantville Pig Out<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPKaojCBGPgcK8Zop0-jJW9NTsxw3X9qBTtp6rPCHSRbI1ZK-MFB2eyXN1f8_qRTzveTIjVWeVribVhLwkYOBfUTzCBbz4w8tdnzgfFd-Htu4fKWvNLePtqq8-x7pGIqaH03F9yPk8jjMl/s1600/pleasantvillepigout.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPKaojCBGPgcK8Zop0-jJW9NTsxw3X9qBTtp6rPCHSRbI1ZK-MFB2eyXN1f8_qRTzveTIjVWeVribVhLwkYOBfUTzCBbz4w8tdnzgfFd-Htu4fKWvNLePtqq8-x7pGIqaH03F9yPk8jjMl/s200/pleasantvillepigout.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Compare if you will the name <i>Pleasantville</i> with the gruesomely spot-on barbecue-related town names we've seen in the past, like <a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2008/10/crawdad-creek-bbq.html">Boiling Springs Lake</a> and <a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2011/08/hardball-farms.html">Hardball Farms</a>. While those toponyms put it all out there—the pain, the anguish—Pleasantville is coy. Pleasant. Does this <i>look</i> pleasant?<br />
<br />
The pig in his barbecue grill jail, the flames swelling at his back—that's pleasant?<br />
<br />
Well, for him, it probably is. We lost our heads for a minute. This isn't one of our scheduled <a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/search/label/f.o.c.">Festivals of Cruelty</a>, wherein the animals are truly terrorized and hounded to the brink of death and beyond.<br />
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This is party time. The animals are honored guests, proud for the chance to die and experience the oblivion they've spent their lives pursuing.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a><br />
<br />Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365355509420961754noreply@blogger.com86tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5396438339085657882.post-67064739649498634892011-12-17T00:01:00.000-08:002011-12-17T00:32:37.837-08:00Sauced Pigs Bar-B-Que<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUNbQAfZI-9UzfjlQcbG042eLNmByWxIVC71xRvPjRcm6EjuZn4N5H3KPuWnVMfVYDn244ajTyci3739kExlbHgPtGJW1R0nclbZjb3eHBqgberuop9UyrmpgHjLmlTWb7kqHMWP13R1-v/s1600/saucedpigs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUNbQAfZI-9UzfjlQcbG042eLNmByWxIVC71xRvPjRcm6EjuZn4N5H3KPuWnVMfVYDn244ajTyci3739kExlbHgPtGJW1R0nclbZjb3eHBqgberuop9UyrmpgHjLmlTWb7kqHMWP13R1-v/s200/saucedpigs.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>We love animals-as-food punning. Ask anyone. (<a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2009/05/hava-nagrilla-kosher-barbecue-contest.html">Exhibit A</a>, and <a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2010/11/smokin-hot-sistahs.html">Exhibit B</a>.)<br />
<br />
These two pigs are sauced, you see—drunk on the glory of their impending deaths. They're also sauced, as in slathered with flavor-enhancing goop.<br />
<br />
Either way, we can see they're feeling no pain. (That part comes later.) Right now, it's all about camaraderie, happy wishes for an eventful future, and the profound satisfaction that comes from fulfilling one's dearest wishes. That they can experience their blossoming present and fructifying future together is icing on the cake. Or more like barbecue sauce on the hunk of pig meat.<br />
<br />
Of course, the one on the right looks like he's had a touch too much camaraderie and reminiscing about the paltry pleasures of living.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUCoP7CYxZikxstg5slnUZ9KWA2nCRk2RdbxkGVr3PCdz__bK8WOr2YwDShCc05imkoSqnw5hnhOVOeKLz1bxtkpadWyjaIdPcY_b8F4XgbuhpSxe6G2Dci7E0LT5stWCRoJ7x0Mt-vj5c/s1600/saucyqbarbq.com.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUCoP7CYxZikxstg5slnUZ9KWA2nCRk2RdbxkGVr3PCdz__bK8WOr2YwDShCc05imkoSqnw5hnhOVOeKLz1bxtkpadWyjaIdPcY_b8F4XgbuhpSxe6G2Dci7E0LT5stWCRoJ7x0Mt-vj5c/s1600/saucyqbarbq.com.jpg" /></a></div>Addendum: More sauce-related wordplay, this time courtesy of a decapitated pig head wreathed in a bandanna of fire.Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365355509420961754noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5396438339085657882.post-55828941323664199922011-12-15T00:01:00.000-08:002011-12-15T00:01:00.048-08:00Big John's Beef Jerky<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOs3oHcZEHrEBtFt2GHeErHo68O7dz3cIZ11xlT6LHaYm-ECPXx45IgJcfnQkPWNSizLtqQw5iLrSMaCABtiaR5V9soaBJ5CQylVpkWfd8Pq-zwT54-hwR0vnKRz4FFpx_-GiNqQXBy_gq/s1600/bigjohns.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOs3oHcZEHrEBtFt2GHeErHo68O7dz3cIZ11xlT6LHaYm-ECPXx45IgJcfnQkPWNSizLtqQw5iLrSMaCABtiaR5V9soaBJ5CQylVpkWfd8Pq-zwT54-hwR0vnKRz4FFpx_-GiNqQXBy_gq/s200/bigjohns.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
The jerky pushers puzzle us. Yes, <i>all</i> the True Believers, the Willing Sacrifices, the Kill-Me-Nows, the relentless martyrs—every self-peddling beast puzzles us. But for some reason, the pre-jerky animals (along with the <a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2010/10/pork-rinds-retrospective.html">pre-rinded pigs</a>) just baffle us and give us the shivers.<br />
<br />
There's something about the time investment implicit in the jerky-making process. Big John knows it's not simply a matter of killing himself and trusting that he will make it into the waiting mouths of his superiors. He has to rely on a more extensive procedure. There's the defatting, the marinading, the seasoning, the dehydrating, and the packaging. It'll be a while between his sweet death and his sweeter consumption, which is sort of a superdeath, the irrevocable made thoroughly unimaginable.<br />
<br />
He has to be completely committed, and that level of certainty is a little off-putting.<br />
<br />
One other thing strikes us about <a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/search/label/jerky">Bovines Who Would Be Jerky</a>. As far as we can tell they are almost always hyper-masculine characters. Take the <a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2006/12/rosies-might-be-finest-tasting-jerky.html">Rosie's Vermont Beef Jerky</a> spokesjerk—the burly lumberjack we met almost five years ago. These animals are the manliest of the manly: muscle-bound, tuxedoed, boxing gloved, or bedecked in backwoods plaid. Like the foodstuffs they are destined to become, they are tough. Whether this reflects the aspirations of the jerky consumer or the essential nature of the animals in their benighted (i.e., living) form, we can't say.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br />Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365355509420961754noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5396438339085657882.post-91796569295075537182011-12-13T00:01:00.000-08:002011-12-13T00:01:00.154-08:00Best in the West Rib Cook-Off<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ9r09_tKCNhLuUWtK4hO3C7mjTckBw-vjGTl3Ns0dnXrfY0gcOuWiPtOefqiWxCjGNBSpCavjPr0N5HohJ2K8wH_FfsQyF8suet0WmlAfy0EgTbajkxIdXOWBUoJUEx28lbeYOuW6Q3po/s1600/bestinthewestcookoff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ9r09_tKCNhLuUWtK4hO3C7mjTckBw-vjGTl3Ns0dnXrfY0gcOuWiPtOefqiWxCjGNBSpCavjPr0N5HohJ2K8wH_FfsQyF8suet0WmlAfy0EgTbajkxIdXOWBUoJUEx28lbeYOuW6Q3po/s200/bestinthewestcookoff.jpg" width="157" /></a></div>
The rib cook-off is finally given its due!<br />
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Ensconced within the classical tradition, the rib cook-off can at last be seen as the honorable institution it has ever been.<br />
<br />
The pig in his cerulean toga and his laurel wreath signifying high birth and virtuous deeds readies to open the games and make merry.<br />
<blockquote>
Friends, Nevadans, countrymen, lend me your ears;<br />
I come to eat this here pig, not to praise him.<br />
The evil that pigs do lives after them;<br />
The good is oft consumed along with their flesh;<br />
So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus<br />
Hath told you Caesar was delicious:<br />
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,<br />
And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it.</blockquote>
Blah blah blah. Yeah, that's all very artsy-fartsy and everything, but maybe you should just listen to the pigs and start eating.<br />
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Civilization depends on obeying the pigs' wishes.<br />
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It always has.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a>Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365355509420961754noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5396438339085657882.post-10180398340917080602011-12-11T00:01:00.000-08:002011-12-12T18:35:52.786-08:00Cubby's Q<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGqHSIemK8ehfH57aAWnE-KC3_IoG1bRxfecc-b_bFPUO_DyxP0fXR04xWPVNglcY-4rwqgt-5M9nftrUd9lPhPxsV_QKoNEzbuhUKEPRVlu0_LctEvI9Dlii3QwnhyphenhyphenW9JcEzVaGlurQLy/s1600/cubbysq.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGqHSIemK8ehfH57aAWnE-KC3_IoG1bRxfecc-b_bFPUO_DyxP0fXR04xWPVNglcY-4rwqgt-5M9nftrUd9lPhPxsV_QKoNEzbuhUKEPRVlu0_LctEvI9Dlii3QwnhyphenhyphenW9JcEzVaGlurQLy/s1600/cubbysq.jpg" /></a></div>
Cubby is angry.<br />
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Angrily, he endorses his eponymous line of "killer" pig ribs while angrily holding aloft a killer barbecue fork.<br />
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We're not sure what Cubby's got to be so angry about. After all, he's orchestrated this entire enterprise according to his own scheme. If he doesn't like it, he could just leave the gigantic cowboy hat behind and assume a life of quiet dignity.<br />
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So we know he's right where he wants to be: hawking ribs by the platterful, in the hopes that one day it'll be <i>his</i> ribs up there.<br />
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Maybe that's what's got him so mad, the knowledge that it's always someone else's turn, some other pig's chance to sacrifice his meat and bones for the "good" of humanity. What about Cubby? When is it his turn? He has a restaurant, he has standing in the community, he has a set of custom-made overalls. So why <i>not</i> him?<br />
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In time, Cubby. In time. Until then, content yourself with the thought that your anger is the secret ingredient that'll make you one memorable meal.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a>Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365355509420961754noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5396438339085657882.post-7857035845754205322011-12-09T00:01:00.000-08:002011-12-09T00:01:03.421-08:00Mainely Grillin' & Chillin'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcHMzxkcS4mx69TXVnO8gdVHWHdgUB_sWkgSJpaX_WAsciPYmQ6H61ilFJ7Dbrz_7LaB47GFpqlUai17tj5fsHHtgQVvUqMV_DtJ1dlQ1-xePOaqZ5x6B0rkABxwDbLau4fIZbJq5aMo8G/s1600/mainelygrillinandchillin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcHMzxkcS4mx69TXVnO8gdVHWHdgUB_sWkgSJpaX_WAsciPYmQ6H61ilFJ7Dbrz_7LaB47GFpqlUai17tj5fsHHtgQVvUqMV_DtJ1dlQ1-xePOaqZ5x6B0rkABxwDbLau4fIZbJq5aMo8G/s1600/mainelygrillinandchillin.jpg" /></a></div>
Lobster: Say, when you think about the Raitt Homestead Farm's Mainely Grillin' & Chillin' Country BBQ State Championship, what's the first thing that comes to mind?<br />
<br />
Pig: Hard to say, Lob. I guess the grilling? Or maybe the chilling?<br />
<br />
Lobster: They're both important aspects of the G&C festivities, that's for sure. But aren't you forgetting something?<br />
<br />
Pig: No, I don't think...<br />
<br />
Lobster: Come on, Pig. What's the best part? The Reason for the Season?<br />
<br />
Pig: Um...<br />
<br />
Lobster: There's the grilling. The chilling. And the...?<br />
<br />
Pig: The killing!<br />
<br />
Lobster: Now you got it!<br />
<br />
Pig: If it weren't for us getting killed, none of the rest of it would be worth a darn.<br />
<br />
Lobster: Too true.<br />
<br />
Pig: And the spilling. Spilling our blood?<br />
<br />
Lobster: Sure, I guess.<br />
<br />
Pig: And the willing? Like, making out your will?<br />
<br />
Lobster: Yeah, but it's not like we <i>own</i> anything to give away. It's borrowed time all the way! We can't even claim ownership of our bodies.<br />
<br />
Pig: There's the Adirondack chairs, too. Can't forget them.<br />
<br />
Lobster: They make the chilling so much easier.<br />
<br />
Pig: To us!<br />
<br />
Lobster: To us!<br />
<br />
*clink!*<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a>Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365355509420961754noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5396438339085657882.post-12320880994206745492011-12-07T00:01:00.001-08:002011-12-07T00:12:18.899-08:00Pig on the Pond<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwBev4DjjTk_TM0lSILte-zH5m9lI4csiK6f8gDvHbQkh7KF6_Q0xT-ZmP4L0b2z-tDd_inuYdpR3Fycxq5EkFV52kR1ZrFgjOB5u442i_HVWTT1S7nFvkcbswhi8jkEeDtYE09hwV10Yo/s1600/pigonthepond.org.2009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="145" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwBev4DjjTk_TM0lSILte-zH5m9lI4csiK6f8gDvHbQkh7KF6_Q0xT-ZmP4L0b2z-tDd_inuYdpR3Fycxq5EkFV52kR1ZrFgjOB5u442i_HVWTT1S7nFvkcbswhi8jkEeDtYE09hwV10Yo/s200/pigonthepond.org.2009.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>There once was a pig. There was a pond, too, but we're interested in the pig.<div><br />
</div><div>The pig had a dream. Unless you're three weeks old, you already know what the pig's dream was. The pig's dream was to get eaten. If he could bob around on an inner tube for a while beforehand, that would be gravy. </div><div><br />
</div><div>So, the pig did what any pig with a purpose would do: He dedicated himself to the quest for culinary knowledge, enrolled in a pig-fattening class, and got himself fitted for a pair of swim fins.</div><div><br />
</div><div>All the pieces were falling into place. As he drifted off to sleep every night, he warmed himself with thoughts of his future, a future that offered itself to him like a big old plate of pig meat all dripping with, you know, "juice."</div><div><br />
</div><div>And after all that work… nothing happened. The pig floated from one end of the pond to the other, and no one so much as stabbed him with a fork.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Now, the average pig would have been so discouraged he might have given up completely on the idea of being killed and eaten in a superfluous festival of carnivory. But this pig was no average sacrifice. </div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj76XV3HitMzXma5AjhXQVdZsKYO7nUIdn_Qn0SFs97cm5Y1oNmKd9cp61c5wZ3oaVH4ReqSroQFN23sQV0eTeh3jRCJq73VssG2-khNAZPraAEzzfoXQol7Le4uujURaQYGBwtwkF7nvsM/s1600/pigonthepond.org.2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj76XV3HitMzXma5AjhXQVdZsKYO7nUIdn_Qn0SFs97cm5Y1oNmKd9cp61c5wZ3oaVH4ReqSroQFN23sQV0eTeh3jRCJq73VssG2-khNAZPraAEzzfoXQol7Le4uujURaQYGBwtwkF7nvsM/s200/pigonthepond.org.2011.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div>He didn't quit. </div><div><br />
</div><div>No, he redoubled his efforts.</div><div><br />
</div><div>He got himself an advanced degree in Dying Studies and tried again. </div><div><br />
</div><div>He'd give them something to shoot for. (And, hell, maybe even something to shoot <i>at</i>. He wasn't going to rule out anything!)</div><div><br />
</div><div>Slathering himself with BBQ 30 (ha ha?), he mounted his inner tube and took to the pond once more. Who could resist such an educated pig? He had achieved the pinnacle of academic excellence! He had finally become somebody. Just in time to become nobody.</div><div><br />
</div><div>(Coincidentally—we can only assume—the 2011 Pigs on the Pond event was designed to raise money for schools.)</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" /></a></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a></div>Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365355509420961754noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5396438339085657882.post-2059273442734587192011-12-05T00:01:00.000-08:002011-12-05T00:01:02.713-08:00Griff's Chicken Shack<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlxMZ9_94ff2tl3IYpqq9Jc-DkSnkBPRyQP5K9kurbvOOQOvxo3Wbv34CWS8jfrxd8rM0bwPdlwBRgFoiaRzrEP-QuPD0G_RFW7z8BRJBASURgJEWdUELftHL_TQV1aVVaoizgS1YDYmLF/s1600/griffschickenshack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlxMZ9_94ff2tl3IYpqq9Jc-DkSnkBPRyQP5K9kurbvOOQOvxo3Wbv34CWS8jfrxd8rM0bwPdlwBRgFoiaRzrEP-QuPD0G_RFW7z8BRJBASURgJEWdUELftHL_TQV1aVVaoizgS1YDYmLF/s200/griffschickenshack.jpg" width="163" /></a></div>
For our money, any chicken who can manage to grow sideburns has earned the right to make crummy decisions about his own life.<br />
<br />
Like Griff here. He's not just a finger-pickin', guitar-strummin' bird. He's also the proprietor of his own shack as well as a main dish.<br />
<br />
He'll just keep on crooning and wailing and offering up his wings and legs for the deep fryer. That's the performance that really matters.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a><br />
<br />
Addendum: Griff's rockabilly vibe calls to mind the celebrated <a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2008/01/pork-bbq-buffet-house.html">Elvis/Pork Nexus</a> and this <a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2007/07/rock-n-roll-fingers.html">rocking and rolling chicken</a>.Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365355509420961754noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5396438339085657882.post-27154886242750629062011-12-03T00:01:00.000-08:002011-12-03T00:01:01.131-08:00Uncle Piggy Smokey Grill<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBEQTwH02VwREAvbkm91fJtehqZxrgp1AiXodr8BaEQXxWkvH7UqUIspHLAN7AUsS0tSEMJuJyF61W150nfqAwLCno4exqSEXUCzCKYTXAF6A3fCgki6_AVxJS5fwNDgls4deITu1mDt8s/s1600/unclepiggy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBEQTwH02VwREAvbkm91fJtehqZxrgp1AiXodr8BaEQXxWkvH7UqUIspHLAN7AUsS0tSEMJuJyF61W150nfqAwLCno4exqSEXUCzCKYTXAF6A3fCgki6_AVxJS5fwNDgls4deITu1mDt8s/s200/unclepiggy.jpg" width="189" /></a></div>
We can't be sure, but Uncle Piggy sure seems like a pig with a terrible secret.<br />
<br />
We don't pretend to know all the details, but if we had to hazard a guess, we'd say it involves his eating all the stuff you threw on the grill a few minutes ago. (See him patting his belly?)<br />
<br />
And then there's his, well… His <i>personal</i> issues. It's not exactly well known outside the world of suicidefood, but cannibalism and his own impending demise have joined forces to inflame inside him an unquenchable paraphilia.<br />
<br />
His shirt's already off, and he crosses his legs provocatively. He wants you to want him. He is making bedroom eyes at you from atop the grill. Oh, he'll make you cry <i>Uncle</i>.<br />
<br />
And with that, we're off to see our therapist. Until next time!<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a>Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365355509420961754noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5396438339085657882.post-36944315758227351422011-12-01T00:01:00.002-08:002011-12-01T00:01:01.967-08:00Ethical Nutrients Fish Oil<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoajAoabYA_2YxQDj7t6fwymXP2bMbvSJBTUjTc31sd-e3eAxmlRi4vcxP62s7g7hc9kZuUpVrrRzdLNBWvmNtrUe1tpxDmxRNKEu5hczRZgKxt54_F9ZEnHyGogOlIkatHSWkW6l0c_K3/s1600/ethicalnutrients1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoajAoabYA_2YxQDj7t6fwymXP2bMbvSJBTUjTc31sd-e3eAxmlRi4vcxP62s7g7hc9kZuUpVrrRzdLNBWvmNtrUe1tpxDmxRNKEu5hczRZgKxt54_F9ZEnHyGogOlIkatHSWkW6l0c_K3/s320/ethicalnutrients1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Do you know what makes fish happy?<br />
<br />
Swimming, maybe? Spawning? Satisfying other crude biological imperatives?<br />
<br />
Maybe it's the simple act of being, of possessing a functioning body, of existing as an example of life, colorful, beautiful, graceful, a scintilla amid creation's great dazzle.<br />
<br />
Or maybe you don't believe fish are the sorts of things that can experience happiness?<br />
<br />
Well, both views are wrong. What makes fish happy—<i>very</i> happy—is peddling fish oil for people to take by the spoonful. It makes them (the fish, not the people) dress up in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carmen_Miranda">Carmen Miranda</a> drag and give in to life's clarion call: Dance! Make merry! Shake your fins and die!<br />
<br />
<div class="p1">
(Thanks to Dr. Mel for the referral.)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" /></a></div>Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365355509420961754noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5396438339085657882.post-20237846114513109272011-11-29T00:01:00.000-08:002011-11-29T00:01:01.849-08:00Chickin' Pickin'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEwL5lzIhqVphJeHtCfLOTYn4uroJ2esRJi9D1EBRwIidWCE3btLxSgCaEzegEiBdWBqmaLCtsDUpqopO8AZBHj_0d4MBA-TeaaVLKat5Qk5_sBRCcZU1c3J-_tkrnymZwgNVxCCghi72m/s1600/chickinpickin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEwL5lzIhqVphJeHtCfLOTYn4uroJ2esRJi9D1EBRwIidWCE3btLxSgCaEzegEiBdWBqmaLCtsDUpqopO8AZBHj_0d4MBA-TeaaVLKat5Qk5_sBRCcZU1c3J-_tkrnymZwgNVxCCghi72m/s1600/chickinpickin.jpg" /></a></div>
It's an allegory.<br />
<br />
With pop-eyed abandon, the chicken pursues his own mortality.<br />
<br />
The headless, skinless, footless chicken corpse scampers gaily ahead, leading the poor living bird further into the realm of delusion. You can almost feel how carefree the innocent cadaver is, with what solemn mischief it tempts the living.<br />
<br />
Looking on from the stage, their role obscure, a pig and a steer.<br />
<br />
Are they the judges of this macabre ceremony, this wretched game? Are they timekeepers of some kind, the sport's sacred adjutants? Are they waiting for their turn in the arena, their chance to confront their own imminent deaths?<br />
<br />
No, we're not sure why we're trying so hard to make this rational either.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a>Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365355509420961754noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5396438339085657882.post-66196281113503272972011-11-27T00:01:00.000-08:002011-11-27T00:01:01.777-08:00Fighting Cock Kentucky Bourbon Brand Barbecue Sauce<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAm3wGj6_BWkAr6ZIlshEqk8X_D4t5mCLJA5PGLXdjd1GeZbYAbWY-VYnlPly5idM75R1x_1UBvc7uiIvWRqhYPOMc7gKtmmIwFzrymSAv51dFrY3QZhwH2aSK_TBZoNAY3tFhCFbYsFvO/s1600/fightingcockkybourbon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAm3wGj6_BWkAr6ZIlshEqk8X_D4t5mCLJA5PGLXdjd1GeZbYAbWY-VYnlPly5idM75R1x_1UBvc7uiIvWRqhYPOMc7gKtmmIwFzrymSAv51dFrY3QZhwH2aSK_TBZoNAY3tFhCFbYsFvO/s320/fightingcockkybourbon.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
Over the years, the animals have granted us a taste of many flavors of madness. Their deathwishes are as varied as all creation. For many animals, of course, the urge to die is primal and ineffable. It just <i>is</i>. As real, as fundamental as a genome, the drive to succumb to oblivion's gentle caress is inherent in the very act of being an animal.<br />
<br />
The lesser-known imperative, second only to this basic impetus, is to serve. Oh, we have seen the many forms this service has taken: To please, to pay tribute, to titillate, to secure for oneself the blessings of humans' crumbs, of their attention, of their favor.<br />
<br />
We've even seen animals sacrifice themselves to <a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2010/04/bordens-none-such-mince-meat.html">improve the sex lives</a> of their (barely) betters.<br />
<br />
But with this Fighting Cock Kentucky Bourbon Brand Barbecue Sauce, we discover a whole new reason to die!<br />
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"C'mon," the bottle commands, "singe a few tailfeathers... unless you'd rather stay in the henhouse."<br />
<br />
The animals are lining up before the blade so that you can prove your manhood, an opportunity that concerns them greatly. If they can't be eaten by the manly, they'd just as soon—shudder—go on living.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" /></a>Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365355509420961754noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5396438339085657882.post-14118317578951366922011-11-25T00:01:00.000-08:002011-12-09T00:23:12.785-08:00Al Baik<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-yy6ThMHFC8JCTETruUxX5E1UE-CreGa3IMXNBrmhphyRXpcge6fYLj_dUemr8jVB4ofz_FO9F6hQZ0VO8wHrDxf9EVymfkEXYbZPDQP5RIl0SBzn5f5i4WycKuhYnKQMT2wu0CZU9HJa/s1600/albaik.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-yy6ThMHFC8JCTETruUxX5E1UE-CreGa3IMXNBrmhphyRXpcge6fYLj_dUemr8jVB4ofz_FO9F6hQZ0VO8wHrDxf9EVymfkEXYbZPDQP5RIl0SBzn5f5i4WycKuhYnKQMT2wu0CZU9HJa/s1600/albaik.jpg" /></a></div>It is with equal parts excitement and nausea that we discover, again, that the animals' death-drive is universal. Wherever we look, to the New World, the Old, to Asia, we see animals who want nothing more than to be dead. And now, with al Baik, it is clear that the Great Wish extends even into the Arabian Peninsula.<br />
<br />
The 37-year-old franchise's 40-plus outlets and its 18 secret herbs and spices are capably represented by a dapper chicken with a giant bow tie and a dracular collar.<br />
<br />
It's "nice" knowing that some things—for instance, nattily attired animals contentedly awaiting death—are the same wherever you go. It's like we've always said: Suicidal animals are the universal language.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" /></a><br />
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Addendum: While we know it doesn't really, we choose to believe that <i>al Baik</i> means The Beak.Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365355509420961754noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5396438339085657882.post-37337179158151998062011-11-23T00:01:00.000-08:002011-11-23T00:01:00.310-08:00Vintage Thanksgiving Day Roast Turkey<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNDbkEJYNB8LhmmaKGZ-5fF-460ATXFf1AzA22lREA40Y0DPN_g-o16uyK6v702FK7fbw0E26nMNWkEgnnbxrK008oSKQZR_tOneyV44nMrDIxGat4GFqAcvfHoxkD27xOwg4-xSiJE5kk/s1600/vintageturkey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNDbkEJYNB8LhmmaKGZ-5fF-460ATXFf1AzA22lREA40Y0DPN_g-o16uyK6v702FK7fbw0E26nMNWkEgnnbxrK008oSKQZR_tOneyV44nMrDIxGat4GFqAcvfHoxkD27xOwg4-xSiJE5kk/s320/vintageturkey.jpg" width="209" /></a></div>You there! Am I to understand you feel yourself qualified to dine upon <i>my</i> roasted flesh? Pardon me, but it is to laugh!<br />
<br />
Have you failed to take note of my breeding, my station? My top hat is cocked at a superior angle. My cape hangs off my shoulderless frame in such a way as to convey the pride of my lineage. My walking stick—purchased from the finest bird haberdasher on the eastern seaboard—is worth more than your great aunt Myrtle's trousseau.<br />
<br />
That <i>you</i> should partake of <i>me</i>. Why, it strains propriety.<br />
<br />
I shall wander these forlorn streets in search of the man who deserves this bounty. Today is my day, and I will have satisfaction.<br />
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Until then, good <i>day</i>!<br />
<br />
(Thanks to Dr. Bea for the referral. You should know the good doctor has a knack for digging up turkey-themed horrors. "Enjoy" these posts about <a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2011/08/spammy-fortified-turkey-spread.html">Spammy</a>, <a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2010/05/mannys-has-great-legs.html">Manny's</a>, and the <a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2010/04/turkey-hooker.html">Turkey Hooker</a>.)<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a><br />
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Addendum: Visit with the ghosts of Thanksgivings past: <a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2010/11/lil-gobblers-turkey-bites.html">2010</a>, <a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2009/11/manitoba-turkey-producers.html">2009</a>, <a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2008/11/california-grown-turkey.html">2008</a>, and <a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2007/11/happy-thanksgiving.html">2007</a>.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><br />Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365355509420961754noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5396438339085657882.post-84506752685846323832011-11-21T00:01:00.000-08:002011-11-21T00:01:00.667-08:00Animals Aren't Even Things: a digressionWe've discussed the <a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2008/01/mcdonaldland-hamburger-patch.html">Doctrine of Inanimacy</a> several times. It holds that animals, being mere objects, are beneath our moral consideration. Contrary to everything you have witnessed yourself, animals don't think or feel. Hell, they don't really <i>do</i> anything.<br />
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Of course, the bizarre part is how this concept—animals' status as nothing more than matter—so often nestles alongside suicidefoodism's foundational principle. Namely, that animals are so like us, with dreams and desires that resonate so strongly in us because they so closely mirror our own. They want to belong, to amount to something, to receive approval.<br />
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It's the central paradox of the Movement: that which should serve to create psychological distance actually inspires intimacy, and that intimacy inspires contempt. Look, it's a giant, steaming stew of contradictory impulses, and trying to understand it will only give you wrinkles.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgonZMaqKm67Zp2h9idwimRLq0zcFkb6UPDM_p7M1AP6Ze4N0bJd3TSD9sW2NgMyX4OQUxoup5PoIAQsMslTwrmHFQOBiBOIrxuHoKJhddjvLqZTHU4_hVHSp1DG8burTWNaPP6SzbKi0M1/s1600/heritagebreed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgonZMaqKm67Zp2h9idwimRLq0zcFkb6UPDM_p7M1AP6Ze4N0bJd3TSD9sW2NgMyX4OQUxoup5PoIAQsMslTwrmHFQOBiBOIrxuHoKJhddjvLqZTHU4_hVHSp1DG8burTWNaPP6SzbKi0M1/s320/heritagebreed.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Our point here isn't to understand. Instead, we'd like to look at something that denies even the Doctrine of Inanimacy, something that says individual animals aren't even things, something that would have actual animals vanish into sheer abstraction.<br />
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This photo is from the October 31, 2011 edition of <i>The New York Times</i>. It accompanied a story in <i>The New York Times Magazine</i> about a "farmer" hoping to do something or other with fancy meat.<br />
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Whatever.<br />
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Before you go any farther, take a look at the thing under the man's arm. If you're like us, you might have thought that object was a piglet.<br />
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You would have been wrong. The caption explains the true nature of the photo:<br />
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"Brock with one of his heritage breeds—the start of a grand culinary reclamation project."<br />
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And just like that—poof!—the pig has been rendered invisible. For the man isn't holding an individual animal, or even a physical thing! He is holding a breed, and not even one that occupies its own place in the natural order. No, it's one of <i>the man's</i> breeds! The pig can't even claim its own lineage, its own <i>existence</i>. It's as though chattel was too good for the pigs, and they had to be reduced to airy concepts.<br />
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Deny if you will that pigs are intelligent and you are uninformed. Deny if you will that pigs are sentient and you are blind. But deny that they are physical things and you are a madman.Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365355509420961754noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5396438339085657882.post-54209124961322631042011-11-19T00:01:00.001-08:002011-11-19T00:01:00.948-08:00BBQ Trophies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFfVkgbg_U2iYLjYC5aoL4tmNSnJwBzUeBMNQ9ukqrR7_3kUXwVSfUNH-qSnRh1P69SQWM6Ahia0D9xX4wMxpkXPkf8CRHUMmoD1IpvtfVJVuzipFkvq_-vKwrvnpS-Ho00-a6XsnIdRgD/s1600/bbqtrophiescom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFfVkgbg_U2iYLjYC5aoL4tmNSnJwBzUeBMNQ9ukqrR7_3kUXwVSfUNH-qSnRh1P69SQWM6Ahia0D9xX4wMxpkXPkf8CRHUMmoD1IpvtfVJVuzipFkvq_-vKwrvnpS-Ho00-a6XsnIdRgD/s320/bbqtrophiescom.jpg" width="273" /></a></div>
You are looking at a bunch of true believers. This Unholy Trinity has fully embraced their status as food. They have <i>totemized</i> themselves, solidifying their very objectness.<br />
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The point is that these animals have so thoroughly assimilated the very concept of their own worthlessness that they can appear—excited, eager, with fond wishes for a future constituting more of the same—as living embodiments of others' desires to eat them.<br />
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They do not merely offer their blessings on an endeavor dedicated to their destruction; they ratify the worldview and priorities of their destroyers. And so the cow represents herself as beef and the pig as ribs. They are just (temporarily) living <i>stuff</i>.<br />
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It is a curious phenomenon, this use of the animals' agency to reaffirm their lack of agency. Curious, but altogether commonplace.<br />
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Then again, it should hardly surprise us when animals this warped fail to appreciate the difference between prize-winner and prize.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" /></a>Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365355509420961754noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5396438339085657882.post-37849913465340711402011-11-17T00:01:00.001-08:002011-11-17T00:01:01.596-08:00Henderson Chicken<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO7tJNu4ckzdQbKJ1XpAqRZsfCgmsxYmXYHU5lUq2PXXFG6sIHKTpPRYeFP2zf2QzVlCbJmfldrpIvNIWGJgJw7N7r7ur9PVTMcQMYTeaMn3lyX52V16EBwL-CJL48NVrs8lgMGilmUte1/s1600/hendersonchicken.com.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO7tJNu4ckzdQbKJ1XpAqRZsfCgmsxYmXYHU5lUq2PXXFG6sIHKTpPRYeFP2zf2QzVlCbJmfldrpIvNIWGJgJw7N7r7ur9PVTMcQMYTeaMn3lyX52V16EBwL-CJL48NVrs8lgMGilmUte1/s1600/hendersonchicken.com.png" /></a></div>
From where does the Henderson Chicken chicken derive his sense of identity and purpose? It's not a trick question. In fact, the answer is the same one we've found approximately seventy-seven jillion times: The bird has placed all his (?) eggs in the basket labeled "I am edible."<br />
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Oh, the chest-swelling pride!<br />
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He suppresses a satisfied tear when he remembers the legend rippling beneath him: Once you've tasted our chicken, you'll want more!<br />
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You know—you just <i>know</i>—when he first saw that motto he called everyone he knew and gushed. "<a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2007/08/chicken-in-pita.html"><i>Our</i> chicken</a>! They called me their chicken! They really love me!" That's right. Someone finally believes in him. For an insecure chicken, that means the world. Something has plucked him from the obscurity of his fellows, his indistinguishable coopmates. He is a chicken of distinction.<br />
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Oh, and he might be saluting, too. But don't hold us to that.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a>Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365355509420961754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5396438339085657882.post-32926781637745982962011-11-15T00:01:00.000-08:002011-12-13T00:18:49.912-08:00Cohoctah Cook'n<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ9SPJrfMG9eVRdUwOm2IsC6trMQmhWC_ZfGU3iTdeFOE0OnKZ0HCL52NodSDkWc5oc41XrnYYkxBtFiqR2fsWy9xEvt0-rsK6vMYJCGCkJkhptXvL8FhJiLzpBZ4_2cOvACqVW_wYKPlq/s1600/cohoctahcookn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ9SPJrfMG9eVRdUwOm2IsC6trMQmhWC_ZfGU3iTdeFOE0OnKZ0HCL52NodSDkWc5oc41XrnYYkxBtFiqR2fsWy9xEvt0-rsK6vMYJCGCkJkhptXvL8FhJiLzpBZ4_2cOvACqVW_wYKPlq/s320/cohoctahcookn.jpg" width="161" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">It's the wistful side of suicide food. This pig's heart is about to burst. Look at his eyes. You can practically <i>feel</i> the pain in those big, heavy-lidded eyes. He wants so much. The yearning is written all over his face. His ears hang down, symbolic of his downcast soul. He suppresses a tear. When he's alone, those tears will flow. His sorrow will emerge, tentatively, so afraid is the pig of the mockery he has come to regard as his due.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">To be put to work, managing the grill, while his dreams are elsewhere. Not far away, no, but elsewhere. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Stuck behind the scenes, as it were, tending to the actors, he longs to be on the stage. It should be <i>him</i> crisping above the coals! It should be <i>him</i> sizzling, as his cooking flesh exudes its precious freight of fat! It should be <i>him</i> filling the skies with his smoke!</div><div><br />
</div><div>But they've got him standing behind a board (?), his "hands" alongside his, um, pointy fingernails—look, we're not clear on his anatomy at all—so he can watch. So he can eat his heart out.</div><div><br />
</div><div>But if he wants to be near, to have one foot in that glorious world of dead pigs, this is where he needs to be. Bitter as it is, this is the choice he must make. And always, in the shadowed cell of his mind, the thought resounds: Maybe one day....</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" /></a></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnkGH9dtG7lwzq7-9Bdyq4gyK8Js_G9sltX2qAnz5jMpCUsd-TXlqQLA4R3THjUh0YA6rfZVzbYPsVBIvRW2QAUEVUKTpeEUTYvQEsZWJS_uqeY7yjy2B3HunwcbzuxEmQCnRZ_7kr6SF/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a></div>Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365355509420961754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5396438339085657882.post-38432949129701542322011-11-13T00:01:00.000-08:002011-11-13T00:01:01.747-08:00Red'z Ribs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGytKjJsjVj9JUlg-3YNTyuqYOm_nbCDCNMXr8XgJ-Q1vS1GzxmZl9aVc1mpr0xmr-0MUkH5FY-r3ZHVPcwOiDIOnutwVTBJEhcx1_B4lsbajUSG7ChtGZof12H6PILvEWkIQlzEP7okNi/s1600/redzribs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGytKjJsjVj9JUlg-3YNTyuqYOm_nbCDCNMXr8XgJ-Q1vS1GzxmZl9aVc1mpr0xmr-0MUkH5FY-r3ZHVPcwOiDIOnutwVTBJEhcx1_B4lsbajUSG7ChtGZof12H6PILvEWkIQlzEP7okNi/s320/redzribs.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
All we know is that Red looks a little—just a little—evil.<br />
<br />
It's those leering, threatening eyes. And that iron grin. His cheeks heavy with menace. From his haughty height, he looks down on you.<br />
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Like another <a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2011/10/byrdz-bar-b-q.html">apostrophe-z</a> fellow we know, Red is certainly full of attitude. We're not sure exactly how we'd characterize that attitude, but there's something of the bully about him. He's daring you to eat him and his ribs.<br />
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With that red vest straining against his girth, he taunts and tests. Do you have what it takes? Will you accept his challenge?<br />
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He's going to see you eat him if it's the last thing he does. Which is a convenient arrangement.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a>Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365355509420961754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5396438339085657882.post-76137426675778430502011-11-11T00:01:00.000-08:002011-11-11T00:10:49.075-08:00Thighs-N-Pies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnwnKX40Ht3HglAiWFSySfYqbIkpWnFTHXk-RrStMY8GxB_wD3cwnWFQxOZMOqYwlsY4BDJN59pa8vPtEN_UxWhBer8roE0Xa564MhgVqgd8Uem1i7uJX1dYRSELtgNqDMbUNTzQ_ZaQk/s1600/thighsnpies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnwnKX40Ht3HglAiWFSySfYqbIkpWnFTHXk-RrStMY8GxB_wD3cwnWFQxOZMOqYwlsY4BDJN59pa8vPtEN_UxWhBer8roE0Xa564MhgVqgd8Uem1i7uJX1dYRSELtgNqDMbUNTzQ_ZaQk/s200/thighsnpies.jpg" width="154" /></a></div>She's got thighs—has she <i>ever</i>!—and she's got pies. Put them together, and she's got thighs-n-pies. While this image scores high on the Truth in Advertising Meter, it does raise a vexing issue.<br />
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Namely, does this lipsticked chicken in Daisy Dukes <i>have</i> pies in the same way she <i>has</i> thighs?<br />
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We think not. The pie is an item she holds aloft. When she shows it off to you, she's inviting you to select it from the menu. But when she struts and shows off those long legs, she's inviting you to select it from <i>her body</i>.<br />
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When you tell your server you'd like the Smoked Chicken Thighs (Hot, BBQ, or Mild), the chicken steps out back for a rendezvous with the cleaver. Which, apparently, is what's in it for <i>her</i>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe83Vg8gpubWwVY9DfiST1kECuJk0W-AS5tdJKtRqZKQXECBHakP9h1NP2SHMxV0LM1H9SFebrpSpIMzPE1lEvKY0_lrDl7WRwbwaj9HYe8PTts9ADB1gecpa7UZpeifJFZtILzBdZJEJ/s1600/noose.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a><br />
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Addendum: When it comes to <a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2011/05/pies-n-thighs.html">Pies 'n Thighs</a>, a similarly named establishment, it's the pies that receive top billing. And among the wide assortment of pre-dead animals clamoring for you attention, there is, surprisingly, no leggy chicken hoping to catch you eye.<br />
<br />
<br />Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365355509420961754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5396438339085657882.post-37913154319214488802011-11-09T00:01:00.000-08:002011-11-09T06:47:46.048-08:00I Wish I Were an Oscar Mayer Wiener: a digression<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzxrQCfRaUoFvpwMntb7Xt9DlcLYmMX5WycCV0p_253PuwgwS7_p4TBqkocMZPiKMHTvF_-BlKJgcQm4ejduyj0BmgtE7TjMPY_JuwhdkzXO6fIqHodh_z8-oIomRyfJ4bspeEYv6QiJqR/s1600/wishiwasanomwiener.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzxrQCfRaUoFvpwMntb7Xt9DlcLYmMX5WycCV0p_253PuwgwS7_p4TBqkocMZPiKMHTvF_-BlKJgcQm4ejduyj0BmgtE7TjMPY_JuwhdkzXO6fIqHodh_z8-oIomRyfJ4bspeEYv6QiJqR/s320/wishiwasanomwiener.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
For more than 45 years, a suicidefoodist earworm has been wriggling across the airways of the world. It involves stuff made from "food" animals, but the targets of its warped philosophy are... children. <i>Human</i> children. So enshrined in our collective unconscious is this message that it belongs with the <a href="http://suicidefood.blogspot.com/2007/05/fictional-suicide-food-emeriti.html">Suicide Food Emeriti</a> we honored in May of 2007.<br />
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What helps it rise above the dregs of advertising's sump is the flagrant insanity of its premise:<br />
<br />
Beyond animals wishing to die so that they may find meaning in being eaten, this is children wishing—and lofting their wishes to a mindless pantheon—to be dead animals so that they may find meaning in being eaten. These kids, they've mastered the subjunctive mood (all that "I wish I <i>were</i>" stuff), but the basics of self-preservation and self-respect elude them.<br />
<blockquote>
"Oh, I'd love to be an Oscar Mayer wiener.<br />
That is what I'd truly like to be!<br />
'Cause if I were an Oscar Mayer wiener<br />
Everyone would be in love with me!"</blockquote>
So hungry are they for acknowledgment from a society blind to their existence that they would be transformed into animals, butchered, extruded into mildly seasoned meat products, grilled, and placed on buns. If that's what it takes to receive love at last, they'll do it!<br />
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In the classic commercial from 1965, one demented boy refuses to go along with the crowd of would-be martyrs. He has no wish to die, but he is soon bullied back into the fold.<br />
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Addendum: We assume you can find examples of this death march on your own. But how about a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HAz5Jc0DWpg">short video</a> on the making of the jingle?Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365355509420961754noreply@blogger.com0