Lucky Me!

Lucky is certainly the word that comes to mind!

Barely hatched, the chicken is transformed into a powder to flavor instant noodles. Talk about good fortune!

If only he could have lingered in this paradise. Just a little longer.

(Image source.)









Another lucky animal! The pig, too—there, just above the Jesus sign—can thank the fates that he was born in this time and place.

Think of it: against the odds, he enters the world. And he's healthy, to boot. With a leg up. And then! Then, to discover that life gets even better: to learn that he is destined to increase the deliciousness of noodles!

(Thanks to Dr. Katie for the referral and the rib-flavored photo.)

Traeger Nationals

From across the nation they come. Hopeful, flexing their amateur muscles, they come to Nebraska. It's a beautiful thing.

And while they are passionate, many are newcomers and could use some encouragement. Maybe they've come without their families. Perhaps their friends at home can't be bothered to check in for progress reports. Loneliness might prey on them and dull their barbecuing instincts.

No matter!

The Unholy Trinity—the cow, pig, and chicken who headline these events so often—will cheer them on.

From within the flames, they smile, projecting their goodwill. Thumbs-upping those who would cook and eat them, the animals would rather die than allow the competitors to go uncelebrated. Of course, you know, they'd, um... They'd rather die than do just about anything.

KFC Chicky Club

True, we've seen death-loving chickens who represented the under-14 demographic before (remember Rocky Junior and LZ?), but this winking squab has gone right to our hearts! Chicky might not be unique, but he sure is compelling. (And extreme, awesome, and/or radical.) We may not be sure what he is compelling us to do, exactly, but we know we like what we see.

He has totally nailed the tween aesthetic: The backwards baseball cap! The clunky boots! And of course, the vest and bow tie! It could hardly be an apt portrait of today's dynamic and freewheeling youth without a vest-and-bow tie combo.

And his presentation! With his sassy, brassy attitude, we're ready to buy whatever he's selling.

Whether he's winking or thumbs-upping us, we easily recognize an eager beaver when we see one. And his eagerness is all in service of moving the merchandise, pushing those dead chickens.

"It's a wonderful filling," after all.

"What's a wonderful filling, Chicky?" we might ask.

"Why, all of it! The stuff filling your belly is wonderful! Being filled up with former birds is wonderful! Knowing I've joined consumer and consumed like some sordid Justice of the Peace! It's all wonderful! So join the club!"

Thanks for everything you do, Chicky.

Hühnermann

It's Hühnermann, Vienna's childlike chicken person!

Here he is, peddling a miniature chicken on a plate. Hey, it's not much of an accomplishment, really. Look around. Birds willing to sell out their kind are a dime schilling a dozen.

But that doesn't stop Chicken Man from feeling like the cat who betrayed the canary. No, sir. He's up there, giving us the ol' thumbs up, looking like he just fought a great battle. Well, maybe he did. We're sure that stabbing birds in the back is hard work. And it's not just birds, either. According to the sign, it's baby cows and fish, too!

Note of Grave Import: While this might be our first chicken wearing lederhosen, it's not our first food animal. That honor belongs to Hiya the pig, in two (!) of his many incarnations.

(Thanks to Dr. Melisser for the referral and photo.)

Hutton's Sausage

Outside their factory in New Zealand, these sausages—forgive us, these sizzlers, as the ID label indicates—are demonstrating true dedication to an ideal.

Hunkering down in a giant frying pan, they beam, they wink to passers-by.

(Or, at least, we think they're winking. Could that be the gleam from their monocles, instead?)

One throws his arm around his brother, who is slowly, deliciously rendered, converting himself into his elemental essence. Thus, the sausages reenact the seasonless cycle of life death.

(Thanks to Dr. Michael for the referral and photo.)

Rick Curtis Quality Meats

This mural is the very essence of sanguine. Bloody, yes, of course. It's painted on the wall of a butcher's shop, for crying out loud. The implication of blood is everywhere. The thing may as well have been painted with blood.

But, no. We mean the collegial scene. The gang is so darn cheerful, so content with their lot. The whole bunch is satisfied and easy-going, from the chicken getting ready to attack the dangling string of sausages to the pig enjoying sexual harassment at the hands of a malicious, grabby sheep. The butcher and the steer—look at the way they've flung their arms over each other's shoulder. These two, inexplicably, have managed to form a real bond of friendship.

We say inexplicably because the steer, in his living form, couldn't have been around much longer than the time it took to pose for the mural. We wouldn't have thought he could have made much of an impression on the busy butcher. Then again, the steer does look to be a character, what with his cosmopolitan ear- and nosering and his country-gentleman wheatstraw.

That they all—well, the four-legged and feathered among them—will be, you know, gone before you know it is hardly enough to dampen the mood. These are quality meats, of good character, made of strong stuff. They know their place. More than that, they take obvious pride in knowing their place. There they go, smiling, blushing, cavorting, sexually harassing, right up the end.

(Thanks to Dr. Fletch for the referral and the photo.)

God Burger

A startling artifact from the Far East. Its meaning is puzzling, to be sure. Is it, in fact, an example of culture misappropriation? An innocent mistranslation? Mimetic crossed wires?

If you ask us (and we are specialists), the people at EngrishFunny.com have it all wrong.

Godburger isn't evidence of mangled English. No, this hamburger is God. Okay, okay, perhaps he's only one god among many. We can't pin down the ecclesiastical nuances, but we maintain that the distinction is irrelevant.

The burger is supernatural. Clad in naught but a lettuce breechclout and comically oversized footwear, Godburger—He of the Shiny Bun—is the perpetually satisfied sacrifice. Thumbs-upping into eternity, he offers himself again and again, ever-rebirthing himself anew. He promises life—he guarantees and sustains it—by delving deeply into the magic of death.

Porcão

Oh, the thriving meat culture of old Rio de Janeiro! For starters, there is the rodízio, like Porcão. The rodízio is the Brazilian version of dim sum, only with chunks of dripping meat instead of ingenious little morsels.

Servers wander the dining room brandishing knives festooned with meat. Then, taking note of an intricate code, they proffer their wares to the willing. If you want more meat, you flip your Meat Signal to the green side and its Sim Por Favor legend. If you are some kind of weirdo who doesn't want to keep eating meat, you set your coaster on its red side: Não Obrigado.

Our "favorite" aspect of this is that the pig's demeanor is not dependent upon your choice to eat him. "Yes? You want more? Excellent, sir!" "Oh, you're done eating the flesh of my family? Very good!"

He wants merely to be a part of the festivities. If you're flashing the red flag, there's always the chance you'll make room for more meat in a little while. And so, like the waiter who knows that a smile and pleasant attitude can secure a tip from even the sourest patron, the tuxedoed pig knows that his affability is his best shot at being eaten.

(Thanks to Dr. Dan for the referral, the photos, and the primer on fine Brazilian dining.)







Addendum: Our "second favorite" aspect is the cyclops pig on the sign. (Click to enlarge.) Our "third favorite" aspect? The fact that Porcão, which actually means "big pig," looks as if it should mean "poor sow."

Suicide Pest Control: a digression

In keeping with some of our other digressions (on sports and clothing, for instance), this thing's off-topic but still relevant.

An enterprise devoted to exterminating household pests is endorsed and promoted by a household pest. For the sake of argument, we assume this is a spider, and not an eight-legged walrus.

Far from being concerned (or outraged or terrified) at the prospect of being controlled—that is, gassed into that great web in the sky—the spider has rappelled down to give Jeff's the thumbs-up. And that's without the pride felt by pigs and cows when they feature as a main course or celebration-defining spectacle. Spiders are cheap dates. All they require is for their absence to make your crawl space pest-free.

Bacon Freak Bacon Club

The (oh, please let it be!) ironic adoration of bacon has never been taken to such an extreme.

The baconcult has always been tedious, ranking up there with the winking obsession for retro bowling attire and bad television. But Bacon Freak turns it into something altogether depressing.

For instance, this pig wearing a shirt that bears the likeness of a pig and extols the dubious virtues of bacon.

For bacon is so magical that even pigs love it. Yes, even amateur rebels appreciate having permission! And fear not—the pigs approve!

So indulge your every appetite! Satisfy your every craving! No one's stopping you! The pigs have given you the keys to their greasy city.






And lest you fear that it's only bacon—that the pigs would bogart the other by-products of their blessedly brief lives—be advised that the pigs want you to enjoy the entirety of their abundance. Ribs! Ham jerky! It's all up for grabs.

The pigs are here to serve. Boy! Are they ever!
















Addendum: We can't help but be "impressed" with the presentation of this product. Nauseatingly called "piglets," these bacon pieces are shown in a serving dish shaped like a pig's head. Finally! Man is free to safely give in to his desire to eat the brains of a piglet with his fingers!










Addendum 2 (4/18/09): We were recently discovered by the Coastal Vineyard wine blog, which, in some way we don't understand, is affiliated with the Bacon Freak bacon club. They took issue—but gently—with our post. While we enjoy the attention, and any addition to our readership is welcome, we think they missed the boat. They believe pointing out that actual pigs will eat bacon if it's put in front of them somehow invalidates our thesis. Namely, 1) that real pigs have an interest in not being killed and eaten, and 2) that real pigs wouldn't willingly endorse pork products. (We feel foolish even pointing this out, as though it weren't already shamefully obvious.) The Coastal Vineyard/bacon people also believe that because animals eat animals—a fact with which we were vaguely aware—those animals wouldn't mind so much being eaten by us.

Beer Bird

Strangely, this is not the first hapless, soon-to-be-dead-drunk and stuck-on-a-can-of-beer chicken we have presented. But it is the most carefree. Unlike this example and the one found here, the Beer Bird is "feeling no pain."

He has managed to find an antique can of beer—with a pull-tab!—and he's halfway to oblivion, having arrived at the waystation known as Overconfident. With the stars of senselessness popping all around him, he flashes the thumbs-up of the self-appointed expert.

"Thash right, buddy. What we're gonna do is, is… I'm gonna jam myself down onto this here beer, and... Hey, gar-son! Howzabout a little nother canny canny for the Bird Beer?"

Does he know what he's in for? Does he truly know what he agreed to?

Oh, he knows.

The packaging he appears on couldn't be more explicit.

Once he's drunk himself to death, he'll be set upon a final can of beer. This will be the chariot that races him, crisp and redeemed, to the Promised Land.

"Let th' other birds peck peck peck and get their neck wrung. Sucker's game is what that is! Yours truly's got other ideas. Blaze of glory! Way I'm gonna go out. Settin' on a beer can. Beer can's my rocket, am I right?"

Take her easy, Beer Bird. Godspeed.

Uncaged—Yes on Proposition 2

Before we get down to business, we must mention two things:

1) California residents, please do vote Yes on Proposition 2, the farm animal welfare bill on the November 2008 ballot.

2) While you're at it, consider voting Yes on the Little Old Lady Protection Act. LOLPA would outlaw pushing little old ladies down the stairs before mugging them. Although LOLPA has garnered much support, some detractors see in it an unnecessary restriction on personal liberty. Rest assured, LOLPA does not prohibit mugging of the elderly and would not prevent you from continuing to assault and rob anyone.

Which brings us to Uncaged. This animated Yes-on-2 production stars a pig singing a Proposition 2–related version of Stevie Wonder's classic Superstitious.




The cause is worthy. The message is repulsive and winds up recapitulating major themes of the suicidefoodist movement. The animals do not object to being raised for food, to being transformed even before their birth into a commodity. No, that is a foundational component of being an animal, and they are foursquare in favor of that. They take issue only with the specifics of their subjugation.







One might have supposed that people devoted to the welfare (if not the freedom) of animals would have preferred a less ugly approach. Was it necessary to show rows of pigs cheering as our singer/pig Sty-vie Wonder requests pleasanter confinement? Or ranks of thumbs-upping chickens pleased to be referred to as "food"? Or a veal calf (one of the "calves you will be eatin'") relieved only to stop "livin' in [its] poo"?







Back to the (imaginary) Little Old Ladies Protection Act. Just as Prop 2 calls for what should be uncontroversially humane treatment of livestock, LOLPA calls for people not to push little old ladies down flights of stairs. Who but the psychopathological could oppose such a measure?

Say that pro-LOLPA advocacy groups produced a snappy animated number. In it, darling little old cartoon ladies asked simply, "Before you mug us, please don't shove us down the stairs." Would that give you pause?

"When you mug us, you don't need to hug us! Just don't! Push! Us! Down! The! Staaairs!" Would you wonder, "Why is grandma okay with the idea of getting mugged in the first place? Couldn't they find another way of presenting their case?"

So it is with Uncaged. Surely there is a way to express support for the measure without showing animals explicitly endorsing its of-course-animals-are-still-going-to-be-killed-and-eaten presupposition.

(Thanks to Dr. Gennifer for the referral.)






Addendum: If you live in California, please do vote Yes on Prop 2. Thank you.