Imagine this. You and your newly-wedded wife run from the church, smiles wide across your face with the thought of your union and life ahead of you, cheers of people who love you and well-wishers surrounding you as you pass the doors, jumping in the back of your rented limousine. As the car starts up, cans jangling along the road, the back window painted with the message of your momentous day. You cheekily and passionately begin to kiss your wife, crack open the bottle of champagne from the ice-bucket, and pour two glasses. Seemingly, nothing can go wrong.
The car hits a bump, spilling your drink over your wife. She says not to worry, it is the happiest day of your lives, after all. Still, you feel the need to clean up the mess you made, your wife jokingly says you just wanted an excuse to get her out of her dress. You whisper something back to her, and she laughs and gives you a saucy smile. You begin kissing again, and passion takes over.
40 minutes later, you realize that while in the throes of passion, it's possible that you missed the turn-off, or that the driver is lost. It doesn't even take half an hour from the church to the hotel, so you know it's overkill to be in the car for that long. You walk up to the seperating window, knocking on it. "Driver," you say, "what seems to be the delay? It surely does not take this long to get to where we are going, are you lost?"
The window slowly rolls down, and stifle a laugh when you see that he is wearing the cliche chauffeur's outfit, but something is slightly off. The first sign of this is that when the driver begins to turn, you notice that his face is longer and differently shaped than most humans. You notice his snout. As your pig driver turns around, he begins squealing and shrieking, flailing around wildly. You recoil in terror; a pig has been driving you the whole time. The pig's hooves are waving around madly, his eyes roll back into his head seeing white where there should only be black. You scream, falling back, scrambling back to your wife. The pig attempts to get through the dividing window; pushes its front hooves through, throwing its head back before squealing louder than ever; a sound far worse than nails on chalkboard. It bites at you; the pig seems to be stuck. You hold onto your wife, scream that you love her as you look beyond the bucking, screeching beast and see what lies ahead of you. The car is on the other side of the road, and a semi-trailer is hurtling towards you. The pig still has his chauffeur's hat on, biting wildly and making horrible sounds, sounds that will haunt you for the rest of your days. Or should I say the rest of your 17 seconds.
The limousine is destroyed, everyone dies. The truck is carrying petrol, and a spark from the crash ignites the scene. Twenty-seven people die in the explosion. Your family files a suit against the limousine company; the company says they've never had a previous problem with the pig, and file a counter-suit, saying that your actions must have caused the accident. The company win both cases.