Hogs 'N Heat BBQ Team: before and after

Hogs and heat go together like pigs broiling to death on a giant metal grate!

Enjoying the cozy warmth of the grill, they toast their impending death with barbecue sauce and rub.

And while we're happy to encounter another example of suicide food lunacy, we see something even more glorious to talk about.

Because we've run across these hogs before. We could never forget their flashy threads.

It's true. This is the suicidefoodistically pure After picture. And what of the pagan Before?




This is how we first saw them.

It's as though they've cleaned up their act and joined the church of Suicide Food. No longer are the animals suffering—now they enjoy their spot on the grill. Hallelujah, for they have seen the Light!

Before, like dumb beasts, they labored and sweltered and feared for the end. They were nothing more than livestock, without intention or agency. They struggled to fend off their deaths-by-thirst. They squirmed and panted and sweated. No doubt they grunted and stank.

Now, they bear the hallmark of animals with souls: They relax on the gridiron with equanimity, and even sample the condiments that will soon enhance their flavor.

(Thanks to Dr. Bob for bringing the "after" version to our attention.)

Tacho's

Here we see the suicidefood equivalent of the inmates taking over the asylum:

The entrées have taken over the restaurant!

(Pay no attention to the minuscule, cleaver-wielding fellow in the gigantic sombrero. This is all about the animals.)

The steer is really putting his back into it, hoisting his friends on their trays, and, if the apron is any indication, holding down the fort in the kitchen. The disproportionate pig and chicken—too small and too large, respectively—are happy just looking tasty.

This vignette reminds us of Alan Weisman's World Without Us. Should humanity vanish, the animals will carry on, managing the eateries, keeping the ovens full. Of course, with no people to consume them, theirs will be an empty existence, void of meaning. All the time in the world to perfect themselves as the main courses, a status that gives them reason to live, but no one to consume them. It'll be like a Twilight Zone episode made real.







Addendum: Look! It's another animal waiter carrying out-of-scale companions on a tray! (A new motif? Will we be seeing more of it in the coming months?) This server offering his chicken and cow pals is the natty pig of Mighty Swine Dining, a name that raises the question: Is this dining on pigs, or dining in the manner of pigs? (Thanks to Dr. Charlie for the referral.)










Addendum 2 (4/10/10): The sense of scale seems a little better. But still.

Huskeradio BBQ

While these rampant pigs are nominally excited by the Cornhuskers of the University of Nebraska-Lincoln, what really gets them supercharged is the opportunity to gorge themselves on pig parts. And then, no doubt, they will take one for the team and succumb to the grill at the next tailgate party.

They are such fans of dead pigs that the football clutched by Ballcap on the left is even marked as pigskin. Cowboy on the right licks his chops at the prospect of shoving that rack of ribs down his throat. Only Swinger in the middle is eating nonsanctioned chicken, and as a result, the transgressive look on his face is equal parts anxiety and delirium.

Between gulps, they listen to the game, sure, but then it's back to chewing and swallowing their parents, and daydreaming about going pro and winding up in the stomachs of another bunch of fans.

The Parks Companies

The Parks Companies are dedicated to "innovative and forward thinking solutions for today's swine industry."

To innovative and forward-thinking we would like to add adorable.

Just look at the line of piglets kicking up their heels as they trail mama toward the processing plant!

We're seeing a new standard of maternal devotion and family togetherness, a new vision of peace and respite. It's as though Norman Rockwell relocated to Hog Finishing Town, USA! Banished to sour memory are the scenes of adoring mothers and fascinated babes, the shared language of care and regard. And good riddance! In Suicidefoodland, such ideas are manacles shackling us to a world we can never again know.

We are—once more—reminded of those regimes that bepimple human history, the regimes that seek to erase the past and sever every last connection to it. This is the new Year 0.

With the past a political prisoner relegated to a lightless cell, and the future a savior who will never be born, all that remains is a present with no power to elevate us. A Now that sees us drawn ever closer to the grave.

Or, you know, a present wherein the piglets scamper ever closer to their sweet fate.

Pigs for Jesus Foundation

Flanked by stained glass windows, our pig rests comfortably, humbled and gladdened to have been sacrificed for something larger than himself. While not fully angelic—actual, winged pig-angels flutter around the steeple and its pealing bell—he is nevertheless more important than the standard barbecue victim, his death adding up to so much more.

His mortal flesh went toward a holy cause: the raising and slaughter of pigs in the name of Christian charity. Which makes this guy better than your garden-variety dead pig. And which explains the twinkle in the pig's eye and the expectant look on his face, as though he just can't wait to share his good news with you.

Would it be gauche to point out here that Jesus would have declined any pigs butchered in his behalf? Keeping kosher means never having to say you're sorry. To the pigs. For eating them.

(Thanks to Dr. Charlotte for the referral.)







Addendum (5/08/10): And here's the same pig in service of a secular, though still pig-eating, concern.

Fightin' Cock Roaster

It's been more than two years since we first got to know prizefighting "food" animals. It's nice to see that their delusional compulsions burn as brightly as ever. They still pump iron and primp in front of full-length mirrors so they can face death like the warriors of old.

Of course, this one smiles a little more than the Spartans probably did. Then again, he's got more to be thankful for. Remember, the only way he loses is if he avoids ending up roasting in some oven somewhere. So the pressure's really off.

Which is how he can afford to step lightly down his lightning bolt staircase (?) right into the ring, where he'll take a dive midway through the first round.

Browns the Butchers

A proud tradition of sheep stomach stuffing and boiling, haggis represents all that is Scottish.

However, this disembodied sheep's stomach is English, the tam o'shanter notwithstanding.

He wants you to eat him and his fellow, um, muscular digestive organs in a weird and punishing tribute to the heritage of the people who killed the sheep who previously housed him.

Funny isn't it—and we don't mean funny ha ha, we mean funny completely screwed up—that the stomach, good old Gastro, is depicted as an animal-like quadruped. He even has a tail! (Unless that's just his darling little pyloric canal.) It's as though the sheep's absence means the haggis ordeal is simply too far removed from anything resembling a cute little animal. This is unacceptable! Thus, the personified stomach, an entity we can hardly believe we haven't invoked before.

Blues & BBQ Gymnastics Invitational

If there are three things that go together better than blues, barbecue, and gymnastics, we can't imagine what they are.

Archery, waffles, and ikebana (the Japanese art of flower arrangement)? Demolition derby, aspic, and dance marathons? Corn mush, ping pong, and The Marriage of Figaro?

Try as we might, we can conceive of nothing that makes quite as much nonsense as the BBBQGI. For you see, in the warped world of Suicidefoodistan, nothing is coherent. Baffling is the new reasonable. Hence, a pig done up like the Blues Brothers sticks the landing on the sagging balance beam before tumbling onto the butcher's knife.

In the hushed auditorium, no one snickers when they see him. No one clears his throat nervously. No one shifts in her seat. Because this is run-of-the-mill insanity. While the portly pig takes his bows and blows kisses to the judges' table, the people applaud and lick their lips.

Yocco's

We have too long neglected this living relic, but now he gets his due.

For 88 years, our inscrutable despot has ruled over a strange and sickly kingdom. Yocco glares at lesser men and meals, beaming out his hatred in waves as emphatic as exclamation points.

He cares not for your society. He cares not for your laws. Nor your morals. Nor the way things are meant to be. To him, all of these are contemptible and small.

On his splintered throne, he tells the tale of his murderous kingdom to a rapt and bunned audience. His frankfurter people know well the king's obsessions. With boots stolen off the feet of some elfin corpse, and a forklike scepter bearing a baby wiener claimed by divine right, Yocco spins a web of self-aggrandizement. Yocco is powerful. Yocco will see them all burn. Yocco is strengthened by their deaths.

One day, Yocco will be eaten by God!

(Thanks to Drs. Sam, Patti, and Ian for their long-ago referrals.)

Certus

Belgium has arrived!

France, the United Kingdom, the Spanish-speaking world, North America, and Asia have already made a splash in the suicidefood pool.

In the Belgian commercial from which this is a still, two porcine lovers are swept across a canal by a porcine gondolier. The narration, translated: "Certus pigs are treated with extra care. That's why Certus pork is of the highest quality. And you can taste it." (Cue the exuberant kissing, as though his kissing her is analogous to our tasting her meat.) "Guaranteed."


In this spot, a pig has his cares massaged away. The translation: "Certus pigs are treated royally. That way they suffer less from stress. That's why Certus pork is guaranteed to be tender and delicious." At this last declaration—the attestation of the pig's deliciousness—he sighs, as though imagining the luxurious satisfaction his consumer will experience upon eating him.

This represents a classic misdirection so familiar to us all. The pork purveyors equate whatever "processing" the pigs undergo with massages and gondola trips through Venice. Certus pigs are, we are told, less stressed, much like a harried commuter undergoing a soothing massage. They are treated with "extra care," much like a young woman delighting in the romance of the famed Ponte dei Sospiri.

You needn't concern yourself with the pigs! They are lavished with loving attention. Whisked to the world's most serene locales, made the clients of talented masseuses, they are living the high life. Until they… aren't.

(Thanks to Dr. Lethe for the referral and the translations.)

Happy Valentine's Day: a digression

Is there any better way to tell your special someone "I love you" than a slab of beef shaped like a Valentine's Day heart?

While we're on the subject, is there any better way to tell the cow in your life "I hate you" than a slab of beef shaped like a Valentine's Day heart?

Either way, this is the finest example of suicidefoodism's fabled inability to keep love and death separate. The movement's pathology forever confuses one for the other, creating in the process a gory mess of turbulent emotions.

The Turkey Speaks

Would that we could all be as selfless, as honorable as our patrioturkey here. Of course, the animals do come pre-programmed with a desire to sacrifice themselves, as our thousands of examples have amply and disgustingly demonstrated.

That they are familiar with Nathan Hale does come as a surprise. (We knew the animals were keen on the whole dying-for-any-old-cause concept, but we didn't know they were history buffs, as well.) Although, now that we think about it, we're kind of wondering whether Nathan Hale didn't steal his famous line from a turkey.

Who better epitomizes the hunger for death's noble feast than a bird? Billions of them line up to die every year in the U.S., their necks craned helpfully toward the blades.

What better myth for the suicidefoodist canon than the proud, death-wishing old bird, Benjamin Franklin's choice for our nation's dearest symbol? The turkey has been with us from the beginning, ever seeking his own end.