JT's Fish House

The horror. The horror.

The homely mural offers a panoply of carnivory's promise. The animals have been defiled in every possible way, and they respond according to their constitutions:

The cow and pig, long used to man's depredations, flee. The legless frog wheels himself away. (He's positively peeling out!) The chicken raises her bandaged wing-stumps in pitiful impotence.

But whither the shrimp? The shrimp, obviously a disciple of suicidefoodism, is alone in welcoming the treatment he will receive within the walls of JT's Fish House (in Mentone, Alabama, just over the Georgia line). And the shrimp is in for the worst of it! He's an all-you-can-eat sacrifice, available on Wednesdays and Thursdays! But he's ready. The worse, the better. It's practically the war-cry of the suicidal animal.

We must ask: Are the shrimp's sunglasses merely an outward manifestation of his inner cool, or, in keeping with the theme of the mural, evidence of his disability? In other words, is the shrimp blind? Are they boiling and eating shrimp eyes in there?

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






Addendum: "Enjoy" this imagery from similarly-named suicide food eateries.

Racin' and Tastin'

This poor, mentally disadvantaged pig.

On one level, he knows everyone's there to watch the shiny cars go 'round and 'round, and to see and admire him. He knows this is a special day for him, and he has come along willingly. Yes, on one level, he comprehends.

On another level, however, he is the deceived innocent. Could he know of his guardians' intentions? Of their desire to suck the flesh from his bones? Could he know that he is that which will be tasted?

Look at his eyes. There is eagerness in his eyes. There is love and, most heart-wrenching of all, there is trust. "Those cars're fast, all right, just like you said they'd be! Say, what are you doin' with them knives?"

Racing and tasting have never been marked by such shame.

And may we remark again on the wry aptness of checkered flags as suicidefoodist iconography? They stand for spectacle, indeed, but also for the triumph of mankind over whatever noble impulses might constrain his behavior. More to the point, they symbolize this animal's end. He has reached the finish line. His race done, he may now live out his remaining minutes in the glow of his many storied accomplishments.






Addendum (4/10/08): Hey, how about this Big Subpoenas BBQ team mascot!












Addendum 2 (11/26/08): And here is again, on a bottle of Ahrun's Famous Carolina Mustard Barbeque Sauce!












Addendum 3 (12/11/08): And again! Posing on a naughty T-shirt!









Addendum 4 (2/04/09): What's funny about this one… Oh, it's a real knee-slapper! See, what's funny about this one is the poor pig has discovered that his sweetheart is actually a slut selling kisses. Or, no, giving them away. And—this is the kicker—she's already dead! She's got the apple in her mouth and everything!










Addendum 5 (4/17/09): Now he's working for John Hardy's Bar-B-Q, along with a nonplussed cow and chicken.

Delmarva Poultry Industry, Inc.

A still image doesn't do this banner from the Delmarva Poultry Institute's website justice. For, as a single, unmoving graphic, this is hardly remarkable. Yes, it's tragic that the dear little chick regards DPI without trepidation, indeed with keen and alert interest—with love? Sadly, we acknowledge that such mascots are not only uncounted, but also, we fear, uncountable.

When animated, the image reveals its true import. The chick steps gaily forward, kicks the farmyard grit from her feet, wiggles her wings, and then disappears. Thus is the suicidefoodist's mind made plain.

The brief film fantastique constitutes a poetic explication of the dream of the Movement:

In it, the chick is merely a portion in an inexhaustible supply of willing meat. (Oh, the rapture of the transformation from individual to substance!) She faces her fate with enthusiasm and then vanishes, making room for the next batch. She is destined to die, an indistinguishable innocent, never to be mourned, ever to be replaced. Automatically is she destroyed, and automatically is she reborn.

It's a suicide food miracle!

(Thanks to Dr. superweed for the referral.)

Little Pig Town BBQ

Living in the desert, with only the blistering sun for a companion and the empty wind for a lullaby, can drive even the soberest soul crazy.

So when your raw materials are a pig with a mental impairment, you're going to see some insanity fireworks going off. Which is what's happening here.

The saguaro-strewn badlands of Owasso, Oklahoma—a scant 10 miles from Catoosa, as the buzzard flies—are a crucible, a chrysalis from which one's own twisted self emerges. Further evidence of our little pig's "idiosyncrasies": in the glare of the sun's spotlight, he leans against a smoking barbecue. While smiling. With his legs crossed at the ankle. Slow immolation isn't a laughing matter, but the pig is practically giggling. This is not happiness, friends. No, not happiness, but happiness's false shadow. A phantom of desperation. An infected mind.

Through it all, through the agonies of thirst and loneliness—the cow skull. It is our Ham-let's Yorick. What the little pig hungers for is the same quiet dignity that the weathered cow skull exudes. That is his ideal.

Oregon Fryer Commission

Greetings from the Beaver State! The smiling chicken of the Oregon Fryer Commission wants you to enjoy everything Oregon has to offer. Well, not everything, maybe. Mostly he just wants you to eat some chickens.

Also affiliated with the Oregon Fryer Commission is Chicken Scratch University. (As of this writing, it is unclear whether CSU is an actual accredited institution of higher learning.)

Again, our smiling Oregon chicken—here beneath a scholarly mortarboard. As a figurehead, nothing could be more suicidefoodistically pure. The presence of the chicken reminds us of the fun we're having. What's college without a little slaughter? Come on—you were young once. (Of course, the chicken will be young forever, never to be granted a gentle old age.)

While the only "course" offered via the CSU website is "Chicken 101," electives include "Cutting Wings into Drumettes" and "Cutting Up a Whole Chicken." Having a chicken overseeing such chickenshit is de rigueur.

No, it doesn't make a lick of sense. And, yes, it is a cliché so basic (and so base) that it is practically invisible.

When the BMOC (Big Man of the Coop) isn't posing for brochures and teaching guts (literally!), he's out pressing the flesh and talking up CSU with the kids.

In this candid shot, he shows his CSU spirit (go, Fryers!) with three lads and (we assume) an alumnus. The chicken hats are another instance of the Ironic Aggressor Sublimation we have previously analyzed. They might also be props in a nasty bit of hazing.




















Addendum: Perhaps the former Wise Poultry chicken and CSU's chicken belong to some of the same professional organizations? But doesn't the Wise bird look a little more... serious about this whole academic business? Or maybe it's just the bowtie.









Addendum 2 (4/19/08): And then there's the alert prof from MBA Smart Chicken. A chicken with an MBA?

Sorrento Lions Club Boucherie Festival

It's a party in honor of butchery (boucherie), so naturally pigs are on hand to celebrate! Only in a world where suicidefoodism holds sway could that make a glimmer of sense. And yet we have endured hundreds of examples of this very worldview.

At the Sorrento (Louisiana) Lions Club Boucherie Festival, weary travelers can satisfy their hunger with any number of pig-based products. Roast pork and pig ribs, of course, but that goes without saying. And because this all takes place midway between New Orleans and Baton Rouge, relentless consumers can also indulge in (in ascending order of horror) pork jambalaya, boudin sausage balls, cracklins, and hog head cheese. Is it any wonder the pink pig has flipped his cap in ecstatic expectation? He knows that every last scrap of him will be put to "good" use, and really—isn't that all any animal needs?

In an almost unheard-of gesture, the Festival also has offerings for those "who cannot eat pork." We confess that we assumed such people would be excluded outright, and subjected, perhaps, to public humiliation.

The Festival features more than just foodstuffs crafted from guitar-playing pigs: art booths, carnival rides, a parade, and (brace yourself) a beauty pageant, wherein Miss Boucherie is crowned. That's right: Miss Butchery! We catch ourselves snickering, and then we grow silent, shamed by our own incomprehension.

And finally, also from the Festival's website, is this endearing, yet ghostly, image (see right). In it, a pig, possibly the joyeux strummer from above, beside a cajun chopping block.

Is he dead, the ax having already done its blessed duty? Or—as we believe—has he merely fainted in bliss at the prospect of arriving in that boucherie in the sky, there to be killed over and over, world without end?






Addendum: Among other prizes, Miss Butchery will walk home with a "septar" and "nice gift's" (sic).

Apple Blossom BBQ Challenge

What follows is a wholly speculative and fictitious transcript of the February 12 closed-door meeting of the Apple Blossom BBQ Challenge Committee. While this is entirely fabricated, we trust you will find it enlightening.

Art Grunewald (Executive Director, Apple Blossom BBQ Challenge Committee): I don't understand why this couldn't wait until the 16th.

Barry "Ches" Chester (Marketing Director, Apple Blossom BBQ Challenge Committee): Sorry, Art, but I am fired up! The designs were just couriered over from MID [Missouri Identity, the graphic design firm responsible for creating the logo and collateral marketing for the Apple Blossom BBQ Challenge].

AG: Okay, well, we’re here. Let's do it.

BC: Now, the kid—

Maureen Little (Treasurer, Apple Blossom BBQ Challenge Committee): He means Donny.

BC: The kid says these might be a little rough. He just wanted to get our feedback.

AG: Okay, okay! Can we see them already?

BC: Wah-la!

AG: What is the pig wearing?

BC: A leprechaun hat.

ML: Why is the pig wearing a leprechaun hat?

BC: Leprechauns. The Fighting Irish? You know!

AG: The Fighting Irish is Notre Dame!

BC: Yeah, so?

AG: So this isn't Notre Dame!

ML: Notre Dame is in Indiana.

BC: I think it works.

AG: How does it work?

BC: People love Irish stuff!

AG: Who says? I don't love Irish stuff!

BC: You like those biscotti at the Farron Street Café.

ML: Biscotti aren't Irish.

BC: What about St. Patrick's Day?

AG: What about it?

BC: You love St. Patrick's Day.

AG: It's not even in the right month!

ML: The ABBC is in May.

AG: And what does Ireland have to do with anything? This will just confuse everyone!

BC: That's where the apple comes in.

ML: There's a shamrock too.

AG: What is where the apple comes in?

BC: An apple in a pig's mouth says barbecue.

ML: Shouldn't it be an apple blossom?

BC: Our research shows that no one knows what an apple blossom looks like.

AG: Well, hell!

ML: It's a little gratuitous, don’t you think?

BC: How do you mean?

ML: The apple. It's like Donny just wanted to make everyone think of dead pigs.

BC: It's barbecue. What should everyone think of?

AG: Yeah, what? Leprechauns?

ML: I just mean, why do we need a smiling pig with an apple in his mouth, about to be barbecued?

BC: I don't understand.

AG: Why is he smiling if he's about to be barbecued?

BC: This is the Apple Blossom BBQ Challenge! It's the thrill of competition! The pride! It's all on the line!

AG: What the hell are you talking about?

BC: Abbie wants to win this thing!

AG: Who the hell is Abbie?

BC: The pig.

ML: Oh. Apple Blossom BBQ. A-B-B. Abbie.

BC: Yeah! It's cute!

AG: It's a girl's name!

BC: What about Abbie Herman?

ML: You mean Abbie Hoffman?

AG: Who the hell is Abbie Herman?

ML: He means Abbie Hoffman.

BC: He burned down some buildings in the 60s.

ML: He founded the Yippies.

AG: The internet thing?

ML: They were a left-wing youth movement.

AG: Why the hell is he on our logo?

BC: Maybe you should leave the marketing to me. It is my bailiff's wick.

AG: Your what?

ML: His bailiwick?

AG: What the hell's a bailiwick?

The minutes reveal that the meeting went on, much in this vein, for another 45 minutes. Of course, this is no more absurd than all suicide food-related business.

Pork B.B.Q. Buffet House

The Pork B.B.Q. Buffet House has it all: Korean writing, Chinese writing, a swank Vancouver address, generous hours, and willing pig entree/impresarios.

Indeed, two ends of the spectrum—the toddler and the debauched entertainer—urge you to eat pork. (We are reminded of the town pig/country pig routine from Ballard Meats.) This is a classic ploy, suggesting as it does a unanimity of thought. People, yes, but also pigs—all pigs, from the guileless to the jaded—give you their endorsement. So eat eat eat! You will offend them if you refuse their hospitality.

In this, the advertisement seeks to underscore the inevitability of the consumption of meat. To present it as a given, unassailable by virtue of its ubiquity.

And, lest you think that this Elvis business is an aberration within suicidefoodism, remember that the Movement, many-tentacled and grasping, can and will co-opt any subculture, any cultural reference, any touchstone of contemporary society. We have seen the "food" animal Smokin’ Elvises, as well as the Love Meat Tender beef-cattle farm. And that is all we need to see to know that we are up against a foe with shape-shifting skills straight out of a crummy science fiction paperback.








Addendum: Ladies and Gentlemen, the Smokin' Elvises.













Addendum 2 (3/12/08): Another Elvis reference!

Addendum 3 (4/18/08): More Elvis! This, from the Rock'n Ribs BBQ Festival of Springfield, Missouri.

















Addendum 4 (6/23/08): We wish we had never brought his up.













Addendum 5 (11/09/08): Yes. Greaseland (source).

Addendum 6 (9/25/09): Another sighting of Vegas-era Pig Elvis?














Addendum 7 (10/18/09): Pig Elvis or merely a generic porcine rock-n-roller? It's hard to say. Pro this-is-another-Elvis-pig: Jumpsuit with big, open collar; vaguely 50s-inspired hairstyle; blue (suede?) shoes. Con this-is-another-Elvis-pig: He's playing a gigantic electrified rib; Elvis wore nerdglasses?













Addendum 8 (6/05/10): Whatever.














Addendum 9 (6/08/10): Pig Elvis has a meat-guitar again. Just like the real Elvis.

(Thanks to Dr. Martin for the referral.)









Addendum 10 (5/06/11): The hits keep on coming. This here's an advertisement for the 2011 Memphis in May World Championship Barbecue Cooking Contest.




















Addendum 11 (6/30/11): Elviswine shills for TC's Memphis BBQ.