Indian Emu Life

Aw, just look at this little guy.

His eyes wide with innocence. His frank, good-natured face. His smile so ripe with gratitude.

It has to do with knowing that the world he has been born into—the world of Indian Emu Life Pvt. Ltd.—has been engineered expressly for the efficient exploitation of all his constituent parts. His thigh meat, yes, naturally, but it goes further than that. IEL has so much more to take from him: his feathers ("largely used for making pads, dusters, masks, and car cleaning brushes"), his "body leather," his "nails," and an oil derived from his fat, which can "protect the hair and scalp from dandruff."

This is why the emu chick, in his dawning moments of sentience, bubbles with pleasure. It's all for him! The compound surrounded by chain-link fencing, the iron or cement poles. (?) Everything has been made with him—or, more properly, the extraction of his bodily components—in mind. It gives him a feeling of safety and security. Peace, even.

And so, happy and humbled, he kicks off his eggshell and strides into life!







Addendum: We assigned the ostrich label to this one. Close enough.

Carne de Avestruz

Did you think ostriches were only sex objects? That's a common misconception. No, they're also corral-based bon vivants and rugged cowboys.

And, as we now know, ostriches are superb athletes!

Like the Brazlian people, Brazilian ostriches enjoy futebol. And, like the Brazilian people, Brazilian ostriches are deliciously healthy.

It's curious, yet commonplace, this identification with one's main dish. As though the way to induce consumers to choose this or that dead-animal product, you must first get them to see themselves in the lifeless eyes of the food on the plate. "This ostrich felt a patriotic pride toward my country. He enjoyed the same pastimes that give me pleasure. We're not so very different, he and I. Now that our connection has been made plain, an undeniable bond, I will experiment and devour him."

Or, we… guess that's how it goes?

And through it all, for his part, the ostrich never stops selling. The intensity, the rah-rah boosterism, the countless hours devoted to training—it's all part of his plan to pitch his kind as the perfect meat for a hungry Brazil.

(Thanks to Dr. Clea for the referral.)

Mellin Baby Food

Italian babies live like emperors!

They eat chickens and cows and fish, naturally. But their palates push them far beyond the pedestrian tastes of humbler infants. Push them, in fact, to the consumption of rabbits, lambs, ostriches, and horses! (There's something especially grand about the thought of a horse—a stamping, champing beast, so sturdy, so tall, so proud—killed, puréed, homogenized, and portioned into tiny packages for the delectation of a diapered Nero.)

The power and goodness of tyrannical children makes dying and being eaten that much more honorable! To be spooned into their pure mouths! To be wiped from their rosy cheeks and glistening chins!













The rabbit smiles shyly at the thought of it.

The lamb beams a gentle grin.

A wholesome smirk plays upon the chicken's beak.

Today, they will be served to babies, accompanied by the fanfare of Italian airplanes threading the skies and Italian trains charging into tunnels. What a send-off!

(Thanks to Dr. Marina for the photos.)

Rooster Cogburn Ostrich Ranch

More historical revisionism from the suicidefoodists.

We've seen their many post-modern reinterpretations of cowboys before—not to mention the occasional pirate and superhero—but this example is especially galling.

Because Rooster Cogburn the Ostrich is modeled after John Wayne's iconic roughneck lawman from the film of the same name, which was also the sequel to True Grit. (We need not mention that they got the eyepatch on the wrong eye.)

The cinematic Rooster Cogburn was gruff and tough, the epitome of rakish manliness.

Eula Goodnight (Katharine Hepburn): Just to whom do you think you are talking, Mr. Marshall?

Rooster Cogburn: You is to whom I think I am talking, Ma'am.

Eula Goodnight: It's true that you are larger than me... but only physically.

Rooster Cogburn: In this case, my dear lady, that is enough.

Eula Goodnight: Do you mean to tell me that you are prepared to use brute force?

Rooster Cogburn: That is exactly what I mean to tell you.

Eula Goodnight: (pause) Oh.

What does it say when a character like that is co-opted by the flightless bird industry?

It says they will never stop! Nothing is off-limits. Every symbol of fierce independence is prime for expropriation. When even The Duke—the paragon of the cowboy ethos—can be transformed from outsider archetype to uncomplaining shill and no one blinks, the Movement might already have won.







Addendum: Of course, just like the late John Wayne, "Ostriches are very feed efficient and take minimal land to raise."

Showgirl Ostriches

If there's one thing we've learned from our months of painstaking (and painful!) research, it's this: people who sell meat will try anything once.

There is no concept, no combination of diametrically opposed entities that will be denied its turn in the spotlight. A lobster prostitute? (A lobstitute, if you will.) They're game! A rockabilly chicken? Not a problem. A beer-drinking crabcake? A cinch!

There is a genius here, a force of invention that, if put to work for wholesome and useful purposes, could move mountains and paint the deserts green.

Alas, here we see it put, instead, to the dubious enticement of an ostrich-hungry public. (Or an ostrich fetishist public. There is overlap.) Showgirl Ostriches will set you up with any sort of ostrich you have in mind, as long as it is gourmet and/or select. For rancid and random ostriches, you'll need to find a different outlet.

We have asked it so many times that our usual redundancy—long a charming eccentricity—begins to resemble a character flaw, but what is going on? A sexy… ostrich? A seductive, ostrichine high-kicker? We believe in the beauty and glory of all creation, to be sure, but ostrich? You're not cutting it. This is not your strength.

Is the feathered vixen to the left what they were shooting for? Are they fooling anyone? Be honest: after viewing this, are you able to fight back the itching urge to eat ostrich meat?



(Showgirl illustration source.)

O.K. Corral Ostrich Jerky

Pity the poor ostrich. Condemned so long to stroll the endless African savanna, to listen to the swaying grasses, to strut beside the mighty acacia. Their awkward forms exquisitely adept at speed and caution, they outran lions. And, from their spot in the web of life, they knew death as well. Quick, often, but sometimes, yes, drawn out. Yet they were ever cursed with freedom, the freedom to run, to sprint, to live, to die. Not even an ostrich deserves such a woeful thing as freedom. Their distant cousins—the chickens and turkeys—had long since been blessed with confinement and subjugation. (Truly, every animal's deepest wish!) But for the ostriches, it was only the trap of nature and those dreaded vast and open skies.

No more! At the O.K. Corral, the ostriches have their pens at last, and how happy they are! No longer condemned to their drab feathers, they now enjoy bowties and eyepatches (?), just like the finest gentlemen.

And, of course, along with the outfit comes the opportunity to be butchered and turned into a "100% Real," "Real Western" snack food. No wonder this ostrich looks so pleased, so smug. He's about to receive the highest honor available to a flightless bird (or any animal, for that matter): death, processing, and encasement in plastic, there to have his Nutrition Facts made plain for all to see and celebrate.