Once upon a time three little pigs. The first pig died in coma after a car crash in New Zealand trying to drive on the wrong way of the road looking for bad hobbitsess. The second pig won the EuroMillion and went to south Asia where he bought a fishing boat and lives there until today.
The most interesting story, however, is the story of the third little pig, that had nothing of little or modest but was a huge (fat) and very intelligent pig that unfortunately lost half of his brain in a poker table after a few drinks and, sad enough had his liver removed after meting a girl when he sunk his sadness on several pints of guinnesses extra cold.
Despite of all that bad luck he managed to have a good life when, later in that year, he met another girl that didn’t take his other liver (I said he was big!) but instead, gave him three baby pigs. And for years they lived in the country side of Hertfordshire doing business with race horses and hound dogs (not the mean type I have to say).
And the story ends when his three little sons went into the wild to live on their own (apparently pushed by their mum) and they managed to rent an apartment with a rather mean and hairy guy, sometimes known as ‘wolf’, and were eaten by him, one by one. Some might argue that one of them survived because, somehow, he had a degree in civil engineering but I found it rather amusing given that they were *inside* the same brick apartment that didn’t even had a chimney.
Anyway, that’s the story I’ve heard…