BBQ Trophies

You are looking at a bunch of true believers. This Unholy Trinity has fully embraced their status as food. They have totemized themselves, solidifying their very objectness.

The point is that these animals have so thoroughly assimilated the very concept of their own worthlessness that they can appear—excited, eager, with fond wishes for a future constituting more of the same—as living embodiments of others' desires to eat them.

They do not merely offer their blessings on an endeavor dedicated to their destruction; they ratify the worldview and priorities of their destroyers. And so the cow represents herself as beef and the pig as ribs. They are just (temporarily) living stuff.

It is a curious phenomenon, this use of the animals' agency to reaffirm their lack of agency. Curious, but altogether commonplace.

Then again, it should hardly surprise us when animals this warped fail to appreciate the difference between prize-winner and prize.

The Great American BBQ & Brew House

What finer symbol for this day, when a nation celebrates and honors the qualities it holds most dear? The Fourth is a day for celebrating independence! Courage! Freedom! Justice! Who better than a pig—a benighted creature permitted the enjoyment of none of those things—to dress in the garb of those who guard the rights of Man!

He waves his little flag and welcomes them all. Like Lady Liberty standing in her harbor and lighting the way for the poor and hopeless, throwing open the gates and saying, "Here! Here! Here is the respite you seek and the honest work you crave and a peace born of equality!" the pig asks them all in.

And so they come. They come to eat dead pigs, to remind them, in between mouthfuls, of the greatness and goodness of this land.

(Enjoy last year's Fabulous Fourth.)

Hava BBQ

What more do they need to do?

They get out on the lake, they manage to stand on the skis, and they show their stuff. For you. For you! To bring a little enjoyment to your life. To put a smile on your face. They just want to make you feel good.

But it's not enough, is it? What will it take for you to eat them? It's such a simple thing, such a small thing, isn't it?

Well, not to them it's not.

They're working. This isn't fun for them. This is their job and they do it well. You think it's easy to waterski when you don't have hands? When your legs end in trotters? Do you have any idea how much those custom skis cost? (Upwards up $800 a pair.) This doesn't even take into account the boat, the moorage fees, the fuel. The permits! The photographer alone costs $300.

And all so they can make a living die.

What more do they need to do?

United Steaks of America

Take that, you countries that aren't America!

The U.S. is so kick-ass, so totally awesome, that even its food is proud! Honored to be raised in stinking pens—treated like meat cogs in a machine manufactured to chew them up and spit them out as stuff to buy and eat—the steers and pigs and chickens cheer on the home team. No divided loyalties for them. No conflicted feelings. Being American food is never having to doubt.

And these animals have some weight to throw around, make no mistake. Look at those biceps on the walking collection of American steaks. Check out the determined, clenched jaw. Dude could take a mother out. But like other tamed Goliaths, he wouldn't dream of upsetting the status quo. No sir, he's a good American "food" animal, and he knows his duty: To die and be eaten for the greater glory of the U.S.A.!






Addendum: U.S.A.! U.S.A.!

27th Annual Barbecue Festival

Earlier this year, we profiled the 25th year of this Lexington, North Carolina, institution. Alas, our schedules are all out of sync, so we're still playing catch-up.

As in the '08 version, this one showcases pig employees, these two accomplished square dancers who are sweet on each other. He's a kitchen-pig with a paper hat, she's a waitress with a bow stapled to her head, and together they make sweet, America-flavored music.

It's important to understand that the pigs are not merely grateful victims. They are presented as authorities, speaking and acting on behalf of some putative restaurant.

When they do-si-do from behind the counter, they are saying—with every flirty glance and well placed trotter—that they exist to serve. To serve you your lunch on a tray, and to live out their subservience by being served.







Addendum: For the 26th annual festival, in 2009, they went with a countrified crooner, instead of café staff. Presumably, he's drawling about the gritty joys of being eaten.

Addendum 2: Somewhere between the 25th and the 26th festival, the organizers dropped the anniversary from the title and replaced it with annual. Is this meaningful? Meaningful? Now it has to be meaningful?!

National BBQ Festival

We have been pondering this thing for several hours straight. We're still at sea.

So there's this pig, right? And he's on a table? With, like, a checkerboard pattern covering his skin.

Is the pig a ghost? Are we seeing through him?

Is his transparency a metaphor, meant to imply that he never had any weight before he was killed, never made any demands on our consciences?

Was the pig run over by a truck with tires bearing a tread in the same design as the tablecloth?

Is the pig a chameleon-pig hybrid attempting a bit of closing-the-barn-doors-after-the-horses-have-gone-out camouflage?

Is this all just evidence of, shall we say, a naive aesthetic style? (Take a look at that perspective- and gravity-defying jar of "spice.")

Or, you know what? Let's just stick with this little cartoon, also from the National BBQ Festival in Douglas, Georgia.

It's a flag-waving, smile-grinning, fire-ignoring good time!

Buddy's All-American Bar-B-Que

The pig—embodiment of all things all-American—is more right than he knows. For, as we have exhaustively, retchingly documented, nothing, in fact, could be more American than pigs—and other animals—who strive only for an honorable death. Which, let's be honest, really just means any old death. When their duty is to die, any death is honorable.

So let Buddy be your guide, America, as you strive to live up to your ideals of fortitude, sacrifice, and nobility.

(Thanks to Dr. Nessa for permission to use the photo.)






Addendum: Read up on our 2009 and 2007 July 4th profiles. (It seems we weren't patriotic enough in 2008 to honor the fourth.)

Cops as Pigs, a retrospective

This is only the latest example of the Submissive Dominant paradigm. Surely the class recalls the standard definition? Submissive Dominants are animals who have the power to send their oppressors running, but who instead submit. We've seen them many, many times, from unstoppable cyborgs to livestock aglow with righteous fury. We've even seen frontier lawmen who fit the profile.

It's a model beloved by suicidefoodists who, presumably, see in it a justification for their entire perverse creed: even animals with the power and authority to object do not! Proof that they enjoy this! So policefood was practically inevitable, so crucial is it to the underpinnings of suicidefoodism's worldview.

And may we just say? If the vegans—those notorious disturbers of the peace—were to make this comparison, if they conflated officers of the law with pigs, they'd be ridden out of town on a rail greased with lard. But when the meat enthusiasts do it, it's just good-natured joshing.







Addendum: See the first example we documented of this phenomenon, at the end of this post.

Addendum 2 (12/05/10): Now we see the lighter side of law enforcement, as Officer Pork closes out the annual Policemen's Ball with a rousing number, prancing on the grill, waving his hat in the air, tongs at the ready.

All-American BBQ

I'm a grand old pig,
I'm a fine-frying pig,
Sizzling ever in grease that you crave!
I'm the emblem of
The cult I love,
The one that supplies me my grave!

(Everybody!)

Every hog lies dead
'Neath the blue, white, and red,
Where the lackeys are porcine and big.
Should auld self-int'rest be forgot,
Keep your eye on the dying pig!









Addendum: Enjoy our patriotic post from the Fourth of July, 2007!

Great Arkansas Pig Out

It's the whole panorama of depraved pig/human interaction, laid before us like a tapestry memorializing the deeds of some petty tyrant.

First, in their infancy, the pigs subject themselves to the cruel whims of our sport. They submit to our harassment. We pursue them across the fields, deafening (and delighting) them with our delicious taunts. They scamper, squealing, and we laugh and laugh!

Then, in their boisterous adolescence, we engage in good-natured ribbing. (No pun intended.) And let's face it, those teenaged pigs sure know how to push our buttons! So we put on the ol' pig nose. It's our way of saying, "Let's not take ourselves too seriously, shall we?"

(And speaking of taking ourselves way too seriously, perhaps we should mention IAS. Because this is a classic case of it right here—the woman in the pig get-up, reveling in her barely disguised disdain. "Look at me! Ha ha! I'm stupid food!")

And then, in the autumn of their lives, having known nothing else but the joy of the dominated, they serve us by donning the bandanna of the damned and consenting to be killed.

All in all, a full life, one fit for any demented livestock with low expectations.

Operation BBQ for Our Troops

The humble joy of gratitude has gone sour.

While we cannot but be moved by the pig and chicken's sincere expression of thanks, we are nevertheless queasy.

For doesn't their attitude make needless the sacrifice that inspired it?

If you were a soldier braving enemy fire, toiling to protect the rights of American "food" animals, only to see those same animals thank you by tossing themselves onto the coals, how would you respond?

Perhaps you would say something like, "Hey, pal! That means I protected you for nothing!"

Or, "Next time, kill yourself first and maybe I can just stay home."

Moving on, is that pig actually a piglet? With the baseball cap and the ill-fitting T-shirt riding up on the pudgy belly, it sure looks like a pig child getting ready to sacrifice himself.

American Bar-B-Que & Catering

It's your day, America! No, not July Fourth. The other day. Election Day, that once-every-four-years opportunity to reassert our values, our character, the song of our hearts!

And what do we stand for?

Why, setting up "food" animals in red, white, and blue get-ups and then knocking them down!

Or, even better: Getting them to front our barbecue establishments!

The standard suicidal trio—Cow, Pig, and Chicken—is given the Yankee Doodle treatment as they offer their enthusiastic (if psychotic) endorsement of an America-themed business that would serve their flesh.

And no matter which candidate wins today, nothing can change that.

God bless America!

Raising Rabbits

It was a different world back then. Living under the specter of war, of fear and uncertainty, Americans found themselves tested. Patriotism was a way of whistling in the dark, of finding safety, even tranquility, in those terrible times.

Service and sacrifice. Everyone had to pull his weight, do his share, carry the load. This single-mindedness was an expression of a nation's determination, a people's will to carry on, to triumph!

But in some—those with weak personalities—it revealed a tic, a kink, a hiccup of the mind. Such is the case with our warbunny here.

A psychological type like him would be stamped 4-F. But he serves in other ways. Namely, in volunteering himself and all his fellow Leporine-Americans. (As John Milton didn't say, "They also serve who only serve themselves. For dinner.") If condemning generations of his rabbit relations to the cooking pot—and then jumping in after them—can give a shot in the arm to the folks on the home front, well then, he'd call that a small price.

Of course, he is insane.

The pencil in his hand suggests that he is the architect of the deluxe rabbit hutches pictured on the brochure. "Yes, sirree! Why, with my keen plans, you can easily raise 15 of us hoppers in one Liberty Hutch, right there in your back yard! Ain't America grand?"

What can we say of someone who devotes himself so cheerfully to the destruction of his brothers? Can we ever be truly free with creatures like this in our midst?

(Image source.)







Sartorial notes: 1. While we appreciate the Uncle Sam hat, we find the ear placement unfeasible at best. 2. The straps across the rabbit's chest make us anxious.

The Great American Barbecue Roadshow

We got ourselves a convoy! It's a parade of proud, soon-to-be-eaten citizens! All your favorites have come from far and wide to converge upon Westminster, Maryland:

The methane-spewing environmentally conscious cow pedaling in the lead; the "Look, Ma! No hands!" chicken endangering pedestrians left and right in her chartreuse convertible; the skateboarding lamb, representing the younger set (naturally); and, of course, the "man" of the hour, that glad-handing flag waver, the pig, wallowing in barbecue sauce up to his crotch.

In an admirable show of good ol' American gumption and civic pride, these creatures have hit the road. If you won't come to them—to help yourself to a leg here, a breast there, and then a trip over to the rib table—they'll come to you! (I'd like to see French livestock do that.)

It's like the ice cream truck for the blood-thirsty masses!