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George Clooney, Danny DeVito's limoncello pusher, has his own reason to throw back a few rounds of the potent, amnesia-inducing yellow liquid: His longtime porcine companion, a 300-pound potbellied pig named Max, has finally succumbed to a series of swine ailments and passed on to the pearly pigsty in the sky:

"He just died, like an hour ago," says the actor, who gained custody of the porker about 18 years ago, after breaking up with live-in girlfriend Kelly Preston (now Mrs. John Travolta). "He was as old a pig as the vets had ever seen. I was really surprised, because he's been a big part of my life." [...]

Will he get another pig? "No," he says. "I think Max covered all my pig needs."

Preston has yet to comment on the passing of her old, snout-nosed friend, whom she callously abandoned back in 1988 after determining that a burgeoning film career meant that she had room in her life for neither the mulleted handyman from The Facts Of Life, nor the ravenous piglet who insisted of following him around the house. 18 years later, Clooney, of course, would become one of the biggest movie stars in the world, and by mere association, Max became Hollywood's most powerful hog, seen regularly trotting solo into Kate Mantilini's to take a place at his always reserved corner trough, where lunching agents would practically trample one another to be the first to tell him how "the guy they got to play Wilbur has the emotional range of a pork loin," and to "send George my regards."

Bonus: Pictures of Clooney and Max in happier times.