Fucking sheep is not the worst part of being a shepherd

There’s this old song they used to sing at rugby matches – or so a friend of my claimed, when he sung it (while drunk.) If memory serves me well, it ends like this:

“O mother, o mother,
O pity my luck.
I married a man
Who’s unable to fuck.
His toolbags are empty,
his screwdriver’s small.
This son of a gun has no balls at all.

No balls at all, no balls at all,
I married a man who has no balls at all.”

Well, whatever you think of the following, you can’t say it’s a story with no balls:

Anthony Bell takes a bull’s testicle in his mouth at the weekend’s Hunterville Huntaway Festival. He was in the Shepherd’s Shermozzle on Saturday, which saw 56 competitors run out of the Hunterville Town Hall, find and claim their dog and head for the nearest high hill. The testicle had to be carted 50m by mouth.

You know what, I’d rather play rugby.

Anyway, it does make you wonder what they put exactly in those shepherds’ pies – but I’m not surprised shepherding is no longer taken up by many.

Hell, in comparison, it almost makes lumberjacks look normal, and (slightly) more attractive:

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