The Pigwoman of County Clare.

[Glebe]

Fucking hell, it's toasty outside! Yet take a walk along the cobbles of old shit roads and ye may find the shack of The Pigwoman, who has resided in the county Clare since time immemorial. Snatching young squeaklets for her own pleasure over the centuries, she has nurtured a bond with the small bacon folk that is stronger than iron. Yet beware... for she has a bite that would take the arm off an elephant.

Nigel. They say she was born in 1269, amid the bleating of raw sheep. By the time she was 16 she had sired twelve piglets of her own, each more snuggly than the last. But there is a darker side to her piggish nonsense. For she drowned twenty oinkers in one session one bleak Thursday in 1786, during the 'Coronation Street Drought' of legend. Fixing the aerial the following Pigsummer, she regretted the drownings, yet said nothing of a fleaky sneap wallaby nous goodness!

Alright, that's your lot. Move along. NOTHING TO SEE HERE. As she glides spiritually back into her slouch-hut, pig in hand, the ancient bitch utters a sigh under her breath, in remembrance of long-lost hoggers!

[greenman]

Now there's a Tory sex scandal waiting to happen.

[BlodwynPig]

I know her well. She sired me in a frying pan on old comptons silage mound

[Berthas Fat Leg]

Would.