There was once a farmer.  Not that there aren’t farmers anymore; but this particular farmer existed in the past, hence the wording of the previous sentence.  This farmer shall be referred to as “Farmer Tom”.  Farmer Tom owned a farm, which farmers have a habit of doing.  And on this farm he had some pigs.  With an oink oink here, and an oink oink there, as was to be expected.  The pigs shall be referred to as “pigs”.  One particular pig shall play a very important role in this story.  This pig shall be referred to as “pig”, or, for reasons that will become apparent later, “Princess Genevieve of the Land That Is No More”.  Now that the introductions are out of the way, let us continue with our story.
    Farmer Tom woke up, had a wash, ate breakfast while reading the newspaper, became thoroughly depressed over the state of the world, and decided to feed the pigs.  So, Farmer Tom put on his favourite farming hat (the kind farmers are required by law to wear), and stepped outside.
    When Farmer Tom approached the pigsty, he was surprised to see, standing in the mud and surrounded by pigs, a naked woman.  This was odd, as Farmer Tom was a pig farmer, not a naked woman farmer (not that the idea hadn’t occurred to him on long, cold nights).
    “Who are you?” Farmer Tom asked the naked woman.
    “I am Princess Genevieve of the Land That Is No More,” said the naked woman.
    “Why are you in my pigsty?” asked Farmer Tom, who unfortunately doesn’t do much other than ask questions at this point in the narrative.
    “I was just recently in the form of a pig, due to a nasty curse placed upon me by a rather unpleasant witch.  But last night, and for no apparent reason, the curse wore off, and I was returned to my original form, albeit embarrassingly naked,” said the naked woman.
    “Oh,” said Farmer Tom.
    “Do you have any clothes?” asked the naked woman.
    Farmer Tom had an evening dress in his cupboard, for reasons he did not care to explain.  He let Princess Genevieve wear this.  The pair was then overcome with sexual passion, as often happens when naked people are found in pigsties, and they consummated their relationship on Farmer Tom’s bed.  And then in the bathroom.
    Nine months later, Princess Genevieve gave birth.
    Why Princess Genevieve’s children were pigs shall not be explained.  Suffice to say, it suits very well this story’s purpose, and so any plot holes will be glossed over in favour of artistic expression.
    Farmer Tom and Princess Genevieve’s children were quadruplets, and were named Janice, Alan, Sarah, and Ian.  On the children’s first birthday, Farmer Tom invited his friends to his house for a party.  Cake was served, as well as beer for the adults, and breast milk for the children.
    When the guests arrived, they were surprised to find that Farmer Tom had not sired four human babies, as is the norm in Western society, but had in fact sired four piglets.  One guest, who was named Jack, approached Farmer Tom about this discrepancy.
    “Farmer Tom, your children are pigs,” said Jack.
    “We have tried telling them to eat with their mouths closed, but they can’t seem to break the habit,” said Farmer Tom.
    “No,” said Jack, “I meant that your children are physically manifested in the forms of a porcine mammal.”
    “Oh, I see,” said Farmer Tom.  “Very observant of you.”
    There was a pause at this point in the conversation, mainly for comedic effect.
    “When are you going to eat them?” asked Jack.
    “I’m sorry?” said Farmer Tom.
    “Your children,” clarified Jack.  “When are you going to eat them?”
    “Why would I eat my children?” asked Farmer Tom.  “They are my children.  I love them.  And, while I have had no children before, and am therefore inexperienced in parenthood, I am quite sure that eating your children is detrimental to their development.”
    “But they are pigs.  They must be eaten,” said Jack.
    Farmer Tom had a policy of not continuing conversations with people who insisted he eat his own children.  Therefore, he did not reply to Jack’s statement, but walked away instead; it was a good policy that had served him well, and Farmer Tom was not about to discard it now.
    Farmer Tom went across the room to Princess Genevieve, who was currently changing a dirty nappy.
    “Do you know,” said Farmer Tom, lowering his voice so as not to alarm his children (pigs are very intelligent animals, especially those raised by human parents), “that my former friend Jack has just suggested that we eat little Janice, Alan, Sarah and Ian?”
    “Why, that’s terrible,” exclaimed Princess Genevieve, wrist-deep in pig poo.  “At Princess School, the first thing they taught us was not to eat our own children.”
    “Sound advice, if you ask me,” said Farmer Tom.
    At this point, Farmer Tom and Princess Genevieve’s conversation was rudely interrupted by another of Farmer Tom’s friends, this one named Dave.
    “Hello there.  Tending to the young ones, I see,” said Dave.  “My, but they’ll make some tasty bacon sandwiches when they’re older.”
    Princess Genevieve’s eyes widened in shock at this comment, and she almost dropped Alan, whom she was holding at the time.  But Princess Genevieve was a good mother, and therefore managed to avoid such an incident.  Dave noticed none of this, of course, as he was quite drunk.
    “Some nice sausages too, I should think,” continued Dave.  “Gammon, too.  I love gammon, me.  First dibs on the gammon, if you don’t mind, Farmer Tom.”
    By this time, Princess Genevieve was almost in tears.  Dave, not noticing, walked back to the party and promptly fell over.  Whether he was unharmed, or if he suffered some horrific, cake-based injury, shall be left to the imagination of the reader.
    Princess Genevieve turned to Farmer Tom.  “I want these people to leave our house,” she said, clutching her children to her bosom.
    Agreeing wholeheartedly, Farmer Tom walked to the centre of the room and tapped a spoon against the side of a glass.  Everybody stopped their conversations (undoubtedly concerning how best to cook their friend’s children) and turned their attention to Farmer Tom.
    “My good friends,” said Farmer Tom, “I wish to propose a toast, on this, the day of my children’s first birthday.  I would like to thank you all for coming, and would appreciate it very much if anyone who wishes to eat my children would leave immediately.  Thank you.”
    Confused murmurs filled to the room, but the guests slowly filed out and went their separate ways.  One guest, however, remained.  He stood in the middle of the room, eating a slice of cake.
    “You do not wish to eat my children?” asked Farmer Tom of this remaining guest.
    “No, I do not,” said the guest.  “I merely wish to sell them to drunken chavs from my greasy spoon.”
    “In that case,” said Farmer Tom, “I must ask you, kindly but firmly, to leave my house.”
    “Fair enough,” said the guest, and left.
    When they were alone, Farmer Tom went back to Princess Genevieve and their children.
    “I’ve just had a thought,” Farmer Tom said.
    “Careful, dear,” said Princess Genevieve.
    “I have just asked my friends to leave my house on account of them wishing to eat our children, which we do not want them to do.  But I have a pigsty full of pigs outside, which I will take to market to be slaughtered, and one or two of which I will slaughter myself.  But if I do not wish for our children, who are also pigs, to be eaten, then surely I cannot allow those in my pigsty to be eaten, either.”
    “I love our children too, and I have also spent some time with the pigs, and so I share your sentiments,” said Princess Genevieve.  “I have an idea: why not allow the pigs to live in our house.  As our guests.”
    “That’s a fantastic idea,” said Farmer Tom, and wrapped his arms around Princess Genevieve in a loving embrace.
    And so it was that, the next day, Farmer Tom opened the pigsty gate, and led the pigs into his house.  Princess Genevieve had a difficult time finding room for their new houseguests, but eventually they were all settled.  Farmer Tom and Princess Genevieve ended up sharing their room with the children, and two other pigs; pigs occupied the spare room and the sofa; and another was having a marvellous time in the bath.
    But all did not go well.  A dozen pigs, used to rolling around in muck and producing copious amounts of methane, can quickly make a mockery of good housekeeping.  Stands were knocked over, porcelain was smashed, and almost every inch of carpet soiled.  And, with twelve new mouths to feed, Farmer Tom was strained in trying to provide meals for everyone.
    “This is not going quite as well as first expected,” said Farmer Tom one day, trying to glue together a porcelain cat.
    “You’re right,” said Princess Genevieve.  “Even after buying out ASDA’s entire stock of cleaning products, I can’t keep up with all this mess.”
    Farmer Tom placed the cat back on the end table.  At least, it used to be a cat; not even the greatest scientific minds on the planet would be able to tell you what it had now become.  “We’re going to have to rethink this, I’m afraid,” he said.
    Princess Genevieve put her hands on her hips, and her forehead creased in thought.  Then she placed a hand on Farmer Tom’s shoulder, and smiled.  “I have another idea,” she said.
    An hour later, Farmer Tom and Princess Genevieve emerged from the house, carrying several bags of feed, pigs and piglets trailing behind them.  Crossing the farm, the group entered the pigsty.  Farmer Tom closed the gate behind them, and then walked to the centre of the sty with Princess Genevieve.  There they stood, surrounded by their pigs.  They stood, and they waited.

Several years later Jack returned to Farmer Tom’s farm.  He had thought long and hard about what he had said at that party, and had eventually decided to apologise to Farmer Tom and Princess Genevieve.  Entering the farm, Jack was dismayed to find it in an advanced state of disrepair, as if abandoned for some time.  But, amid rundown sheds and overgrown fields, Jack was surprised to see the pigsty as full of pigs as ever.  But, even more surprising, two of the pigs were clothed.  One was wearing an evening dress, muddied and soiled.  And the other had on its head a farming hat; the kind farmers are required by law to wear.