Posted on 04/26/2008 9:20:16 PM PDT by raccoonradio
Is this the fate of Bugs Bunny?
Suicide Food is a blog that tracks food marketing that depicts animals (usually cartoon animals) who cheerfully wish to be consumed, cataloging all the real life Cluckin’ Chicken’s out there.
They’ve just done a post on a Spanish fresh rabbit meat market using a grotesque amateur sign picturing Bugs Bunny’s head on a skinned rabbit carcass as a come on. Yeeeeecccchhh!
(Thanks, Doran Gaston)
Translated, “Eat me?”
I love animals. THEY'RE DELICIOUS
Ha! Seen that on a bumper sticker too.
Then there are live humans who cheerfully wish to be consumed.
One of my early memories is of my Mom’s disgust with a page in a coloring book I had. It showed an anthropomorphic pig chef cheerfully serving a roast pig on a platter. Neither of these elements considered alone would be considered objectionable, and I guess my powers of conceptual synthesis had not developed to the point where I saw any sort of clash. My mother prevailed upon me not to color that particular page, however, and I can still picture it in my mind as I tried to put it all together.
Related to this is the idea of eating sentient mascots, such as the M&Ms. A few years back, this trend seemed to really kick in suddenly.
That’s right! There’s a fairly recent one with chocolate chip cookies. The cookie’s exaggerated enthusiasm to be consumed gave me pause, as I recall.
HA! HA! TAKE THAT BUGD THE DIRTY SODOMITE BUNNY!!!!!!!!!!
Remember the creepy one about the strawberry walking down the street and getting abducted by guys in a van (Pop-Tarts, I think)? Personifying food seems like an expression of cannibalism in the cultural subconcious, eh?
How dare you!
Poor Mel Blanc’s rolling over in his grave.
There’s just certain lines you don’t cross.
I for one am not amused about this.
It says, “Fresh rabbit” ... that’s “El Conejo Fresa”, cognate to “coney”. It’s really no different than an animated chocolate chip cookie from a food consumption point of view.
Lol. We're jut not in the Peaceable Kingdom yet.
Nothing makes me want to pull over and buy food like an "animated chocolate chip cookie."
For some reason I've been blissfully oblivious to any connection between what I eat and its perceived personality.
Normally when I eat out for Sunday breakfast, I have a sausage and cheese omelette. But all this has made me
think, and I changed my mind.
I’ll have pancakes and sausage instead...
From PULP FICTION
Vincent: Want some bacon?
Jules: No man, I don’t eat pork.
Vincent: Are you Jewish?
Jules: Nah, I ain’t Jewish, I just don’t dig on swine, that’s all.
Vincent: Why not?
Jules: Pigs are filthy animals. I don’t eat filthy animals.
Vincent: Bacon tastes gooood. Pork chops taste gooood.
Jules: Hey, sewer rat may taste like pumpkin pie, but I’d never know ‘cause I wouldn’t eat the filthy motherf-——. Pigs sleep and root in s-—. That’s a filthy animal. I ain’t eat nothin’ that ain’t got enough sense enough to disregard its own feces.
Vincent: How about a dog? Dogs eats its own feces.
Jules: I don’t eat dog either.
Vincent: Yeah, but do you consider a dog to be a filthy animal?
Jules: I wouldn’t go so far as to call a dog filthy but they’re definitely dirty. But, a dog’s got personality. Personality goes a long way.
Vincent: Ah, so by that rationale, if a pig had a better personality, he would cease to be a filthy animal. Is that true?
Jules: Well we’d have to be talkin’ about one charmin’ motherf-——’ pig. I mean he’d have to be ten times more charmin’ than that Arnold on Green Acres, you know what I’m sayin’?
A large dairy animal approached Zaphod Beeblebrox’s table, a large fat meaty quadruped of the bovine type with large watery eyes, small horns and what might almost have been an ingratiating smile on its lips.
“Good evening,” it lowed and sat back heavily on its haunches, “I am the main Dish of the Day. May I interest you in parts of my body?” It harrumphed and gurgled a bit, wriggled its hind quarters into a more comfortable position and gazed peacefully at them.
Its gaze was met by looks of startled bewilderment from Arthur and Trillian, a resigned shrug from Ford Prefect and naked hunger from Zaphod Beeblebrox.
“Something off the shoulder perhaps?” suggested the animal, “Braised in a white wine sauce?”
“Er, your shoulder?” said Arthur in a horrified whisper.
“But naturally my shoulder, sir,” mooed the animal contentedly, “nobody else’s is mine to offer.”
Zaphod leapt to his feet and started prodding and feeling the animal’s shoulder appreciatively.
“Or the rump is very good,” murmured the animal. “I’ve been exercising it and eating plenty of grain, so there’s a lot of good meat there.” It gave a mellow grunt, gurgled again and started to chew the cud. It swallowed the cud again.
“Or a casserole of me perhaps?” it added.
“You mean this animal actually wants us to eat it?” whispered Trillian to Ford.
“Me?” said Ford, with a glazed look in his eyes, “I don’t mean anything.”
“That’s absolutely horrible,” exclaimed Arthur, “the most revolting thing I’ve ever heard.”
“What’s the problem Earthman?” said Zaphod, now transferring his attention to the animal’s enormous rump.
“I just don’t want to eat an animal that’s standing here inviting me to,” said Arthur, “it’s heartless.”
“Better than eating an animal that doesn’t want to be eaten,” said Zaphod.
“That’s not the point,” Arthur protested. Then he thought about it for a moment. “Alright,” he said, “maybe it is the point. I don’t care, I’m not going to think about it now. I’ll just ... er ...”
The Universe raged about him in its death throes.
“I think I’ll just have a green salad,” he muttered.
“May I urge you to consider my liver?” asked the animal, “it must be very rich and tender by now, I’ve been force-feeding myself for months.”
“A green salad,” said Arthur emphatically.
“A green salad?” said the animal, rolling his eyes disapprovingly at Arthur.
“Are you going to tell me,” said Arthur, “that I shouldn’t have green salad?”
“Well,” said the animal, “I know many vegetables that are very clear on that point. Which is why it was eventually decided to cut through the whole tangled problem and breed an animal that actually wanted to be eaten and was capable of saying so clearly and distinctly. And here I am.”
It managed a very slight bow.
“Glass of water please,” said Arthur.
“Look,” said Zaphod, “we want to eat, we don’t want to make a meal of the issues. Four rare steaks please, and hurry. We haven’t eaten in five hundred and seventy-six thousand million years.”
The animal staggered to its feet. It gave a mellow gurgle.
“A very wise choice, sir, if I may say so. Very good,” it said, “I’ll just nip off and shoot myself.”
Ah, hitchhiker’s guide! Thanks...
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