Really Long Story

This actually happened to a friend of a friend, but I'm going to tell it as if it happened to me.

So I was driving home from some dirtwater burg is southern Minnesota in my dad's big ugly truck when BAM! I smacked right into a pig. A real porker. Killed it dead with front end of that big ugly truck. I looked around, thinking this hog may have strayed from its home pig farm, but there were no pig farms nor other pigs in sight.

What do you with a dead pig in the middle of southern Minnesota? It seemed like the only right thing to do was take it down the road to the nearest farm to apologize and whatnot. I knocked on this farmer's door, told him I killed a pig down the road, and he says to me, "Why, we gon' have to butcher that piggy!" "We?" I asked. "Why, 'course, son. I'll send you off with some nice cuts!"

Well, we strung that swine up on a deer hook and gutted it out in that farmer's shed. He quick treated some of the meat for me, and I was off again, now four pork chops and a few bacon strips richer.

Not five minutes after I left that farm, I get pulled over by the local sheriff. "You kill a pig a ways back down this road here?" he asks me. I didn't know how he could have known, but I fessed up. Apparently this officer of the law knew my name, address, driver's license number, and social security code too, and he didn't even ask for my license.

"How do you know all this stuff about me?" I asked.

He said to me,

"The pig squealed."