Three little piggies went to the market and never got back, not in one piece anyway, rather in smaller portions prepared with much gusto by cooks of various talent and foreign accents. The taste was terrific, the customers chanted, and the cooks concluded happily that the piglets had been the right age and well fed.
Yet, three days after the cooking, one man died and the authorities failed to establish a plausible cause of death. Some said it must have been natural, since there was no other reasonable explanation. But there were also some voices claiming that it had been the three little piggies, or perhaps not the whole lot of them, but just one piece that must have got rotten somehow, thereby killing the poor man. This was such a pity, even though the man had no relatives and very few friends.
All citizens that had witnessed the incident were interviewed by special forces, behind closed doors. During the proceedings we all suffered, though the ones suffering the most were the remaining piglets. They were subjected to body searches and blood samples and groin touches. Finally the animals had to be released due to lack of physical evidence.
They could barely move but they were still alive, lucky bastards. From a window I saw the piggies rolling into the streets, eyes and snouts raised to the sky, squealing.