Ramming w/ Fergus: Flatmate fraternising?
Q. Dear Fergus, I really want to hook up with my flattie, but my mates think I’m gonna ruin the flat vibe. Help a dude out...
A. You’re in a woolly predicament my friend but take it from me, the ramming ain’t worth the drama.
I once hooked up with this real fine ewe who had recently moved into my paddock. Shirley was her name. The first day she moved in, I thought: “Yup, I’d like to take her up against a fence post.” She had the hottest bleat I’d ever heard. I could listen to that bleat all night. And I did. Three nights running.
Unfortunately, Shirley was one of those ‘long term relationship’ kind of ewes. After a few magical evenings of star-gazing and cloven-foot cuddling, I broke the news that I couldn’t commit (duh), and it was time to cut things off. She said it was fine, but then I guess it apparently wasn’t fine? I don’t know man. It was a complicated time for me.
Next thing I know, whenever I brought other ewes around, Shirley would cry loud enough to echo across the whole paddock. Nothing kills the mood like your ex bleating Adele’s greatest hits while your mid-thrust.
Then came the sabotage. One day, I came home and all my stubbies were shredded. Had to spend the week naked, which I was okay with. Then Shirley started spreading rumours:
“Fergus never washes his hooves.”
“Fergus eats his own droppings.”
“Fergus thinks you’re all ugly losers.”
For the record, I only ate my own droppings once. And it was for a dare on Crate Day. National holiday, sacred tradition and all that.
Anyway, the paddock called an “intervention”. I thought it was for Shirley – finally, right? Nope. Turns out it was for me. Next thing I know, I, Fergus the ram, king of the fence post, was booted from my own paddock. Shirley sexily bleated victory. I had to pack my bags and trot off in shame.
So yeah, shagging your flatmate might feel like a good idea in the moment. But next thing you know, you’ll be naked in a field, kicked out, and accused of eating your own turds.