Littlestone walks into his house with a chicken tucked under his arm. He carries it upstairs and into the bedroom where his wife is in bed, reading a magazine. "Honey," says Littlestone, "This is the pig I've been screwing when you're not available." "Littlestone," the wife says, "That's not a pig. That's a chicken." "Shut up," says Littlestone. "I wasn't talking to you."