Fergus: The prequel

Students often ask me: “Fergus, how did you became a talking ram?”  

To this I shudder, squirm, and often break down. It’s a triggering question that I struggle to face. But seeing as high schoolers at the recent Palmy Open Day were confused by my precense, I fear it’s time I finally explain — at least for the next generation of students.  

The truth is... former Prime Minister William Ferguson Massey swapped my brain with a fuckboy’s.  

It all started in 1930. The student association needed a symbol and they couldn’t decide between all the new inventions of the era — an electric guitar, scotch tape, or a parking meter. Eventually they gave up and settled for a ram, which did seem to relate more to the farming aspect of the school.  

But old Bill Massey, five years out of his stint as Prime Minister, didn’t think this was enough for the school named after him. He wanted something bigger and better than just a ram on a logo — he wanted something real.  

Lucky for him and not so lucky for me, his cuzzy was the local Palmy witch. She taught him how to Freaky Friday before the movie was ever a thing (I love you Lindsay Lohan). She taught Bill Massey how to hypnotise two people into swapping their minds. What she couldn’t have expected was that he would use this on animals.  

But first he needed to find the perfect brain to steal. And he knew just the guy.  

In the newly built student hostel lived many fuckboys with navy stripped sheets and a side-part-moustache combo. One young man was loved by the ladies, and also loved by the university. He was top of his class, a star player of the school rugby team, and had a date lined up every other night. On top of all of that, he was a proud voter of Bill Massey. He was the perfect university mascot.  

So in the middle of the night, Bill Massey stole him from his navy sheets. And while he was at it, he jumped the fence and stole an innocent young ram from the college paddocks. That ram was me. Oh, I’m tearing up.  

The boy wasn’t worried about being kidnapped, he was fangirling hard. But me? I was baaing and headbutting Bill Massey’s ute as hard as I could. Eventually, we arrived on campus and he took us to the duck pond, where all my duck friends had to watch it happen.  

Standing in the Palmy moonlight, fuckboy by my side, Bill Massey held up something irresistible to each of us. For me, he held up a hand full of spring grass. To the fuckboy, he held up a chippy sandwich.  

All fears aside, we both launched for the food. But at the last second, Bill Massey switched his hands over. As the fuckboy inhaled the grass, I inhaled the chippy sandwich (salt and vinegar to be precise). Our minds switched in an instant. 

I could suddenly stand on my hind quarters, I could shout out to the moonlight, and I had a strong urge for a one-night-stand. But the fuckboy next to me was now on all fours, baaing at Bill Massey. Now a human with a ram’s mind, he was furious. He charged at Bill Massey, his non-existent horns at the ready. All Bill Massey could do was run. Run Run Run. But in the dark of night, he ran straight into the pond. My duck friends were ready to have my back and pecked at Bill Massey’s bottom.  

While our brains were indeed switched, Bill Massey had done a half assed job with his basic hypnotisation experience. I could still remember my life as a ram, but I also felt hornier than usual.  

We couldn’t reverse what Bill Massey had done. Acceptance was the only way. So with our minds blended, the fuckboy and I became fast friends. He helped me blend in with Massey students, and I taught him about paddock life.  

The distant memory of my creation haunts me to this day. But I carry it on my shoulders with great pride. This university might be named after that man, and I might be too, but he does not define us. After all, we cannot choose our makers, but we can make our future. 

Would I have chosen this life? I’m not sure. But after almost a century as Massey student’s beloved mascot, I have grown to love them too.