Stone Ridge Meat & Country Market, Inc.

The Stone Ridge Meat & Country Market (in Wautoma, Wisconsin) is a regular animal-eater's Meat Mecca. Just look at this place!

They don't just sell every kind of meat under the Wisconsin sun—beef, pork, chicken, lamb, veal, fish, duck, game hen, turkey, goose, sausage, ham, bacon, bologna, etc. etc. etc.—they love meat. And it loves them back!

Case in point: their farmer mascot and his dear (but grubby), soon-to-be-dead-and-sausaged pig. The filthy pig is perfectly at home in the farmer's arms. Theirs is a friendship forged in the eater/eaten dynamic. Simple folk, yes, but simply happy.

It goes beyond men and pigs. Way beyond.

Any old feller can love a pig. It takes a real man to love a salami. Like this salami coddler*. What can we say? It's just the Stone Ridge style. It's a wondrous world of meat is what it is. Meat in all its forms, meat to satisfy every need, meat to fill every void.

This is the land animalvores dream of. Wisconsin might be America's Dairyland, but this one savory corner of it is America's Meatland: it's full of guys walking around caressing meat and soon-to-be meat. And would you believe? Using meat as recreational equipment!

Don't take our word for it. Witness the salami-used-as-an-inner-tube and be appalled awed.

We're not exactly sure what to think.

Stone Ridge appears to be some sort of suicidefoodism Ground Zero, the starting point for a new world order. A utopian neverland populated by meat—meat that wants to be eaten, coddled, sledded upon.

For all we know, one can come here and find meat that wants to be drafted into the military, sent on a scavenger hunt, and hollowed out and played like a trumpet. Meat with goals, meat with hopes, meat with silly, childish fantasies. Meat that demonstrates every propensity, exemplifies every personality, gives expression to every yearning wish! Meat, meat, meat! The sky's the limit in Wautoma!

And there's more!

Trust us when we say that we've shown you only a tiny fraction of what the Stone Ridge Meat & Country Market has to offer. For instance, year-round venison and wild game processing, complete with a good-natured buck who's only too happy to pose for the camera. (And presumably for the rifle blast, too!) That old joker—always getting in on the act.

At Stone Ridge, gunshots don't chase the game away. No, sir. They bring 'em running!

Yep! The animals in this joint are just dying to be killed!













*Salami coddler is the most offensive carnivory-related epithet we've come across since last week's bottomfeeder.

Coffeepot High Country Outfitters, Inc.

Are we here afforded a glimpse into the strange territory of hunterism? Has this scene ever unfolded in our actual land, the land we confidently refer to as Reality?

Yes, yes, deer have been hunted (have they ever!) and strung up. We will even concede that shapely Western-style ladies have brought down their noble prey with help from high-powered scopes.

What convinces us that we are viewing a scene from some fairyland is the attitude of the deer. Dead, dangling from a tree (?), he smiles. "All's fair in love and war," he might be saying. "Even the use of the high-powered rifle and telescopic sight. No complaints here!" He is grateful to have given his life for such an honorable cause: the, um, slaughtering of deer by... amply behatted, bebooted, bebosomed gun bunnies.

These are truly suicidefoodism's happy hunting grounds. What are we saying? Happy? These hunting grounds—these hallowed groves—are positively ecstatic! The huntresses are out in force, the rope is strong, and the bullets will never run out!

Deer Ride

Something is rotten in the aisles of America's down-market retailers. Something is stirring in the depths of man's depravity. There, beside the discontinued novelty garden hoses and the Fourth of July-themed paper plates on deep discount, something noxious is taking shape.

We have seen serious dysfunction in our travels, evidence of psyches in desperate need of healing. We have been sent examples of suicidefoodism's sick vision of a world beyond salvation. We have witnessed self-destructive livestock whose actions would negate all the wrongs done against them. Animals made party to their own torment and death. Twisted depictions of innocent creatures that pack the same nauseating emotional punch of prepubescent beauty queens done up as whores.

And now... this.

This appears to be a plaything fashioned in the form of triumphant hunters back from the woods, having bested a graceful herbivore known for taking flight. (Well done, fellas! We were worried about you out there!) Would you find such a toy in poor taste? Would you wonder who could want to give or receive such a gift? What if you were told this "toy" is worse—far worse—than it appears?

From the Gemmy Industries website:

This motion-activated deer lifts his head and sings “Low Rider” and “Sweet Home Alabama”! Watch the hunters BOBBLE their heads to the beat as the car BOUNCES and headlights FLASH!! A great gift for your favorite hunter, or anyone! Requires 4 AA batteries (included).

The dead deer sings. To the hunters who shot him. To death. For no reason. And now they're taking him home to eat or stuff and mount. Or whatever the hell they have in mind.

From the hood of their jeep, his bonds preventing his carcass from being "damaged," the stag croons from his afterlife, giving his assent to humanity's brutal, sneering dominion.

And America sinks another inch.

(Thanks to Dr. Papa Squirrel for the referral.)

Bucksnort Resort

You say you need the consent of the animal you plan on shooting dead? The Bucksnort Resort has you covered! (No, not covered in the sense of "protected from being fired upon." That would be silly.)

The deer is giving you his permission, by means of the internationally recognized thumbs-up.

(We're aware that deer do not commonly have actual hands. But... white gloves? Does that convey the proper outdoorsman spirit?)

But more than acquiesence, he's giving you his approval. That sporty wink seems to say, "You got the right idea, Jack! Take your best shot!" Shooting this fine ten-pointer requires only a steady hand and the continually burning need to prove one's shaky manhood. The universe has given the go-ahead. Nothing's holding you back, you lovers of nature, you maintainers of ecological balance, you!

Understand: the buck is not merely a symbol of the wilderness you might experience at the Bucksnort. He is presented explicitly as prey and thus a potent ambassador from the rough and ready land of suicide food.


Regrettably, the resort's website neglects to anthropomorphize the other prey to be found at Clam Lake. We must make do only with photographic representations of the easy marks:





Can't you just imagine how effective a cartoonified version of that bear could be, his lolling head propped up in death? Such a missed opportunity! To have Ol' Droopy Bear and Gaspy the Fish welcoming one and all to share in the resort's hospitality.

(Thanks to Dr. Mrs. Suicidefood for the referral.)