Yesterday I spoke to two of the dumbest farm animals from the dumbest state in that nation. Charmed. I'm sure.
I'd been forewarned. Prior to the Isle of Skye Golf Course Clubhouse, We'd been riding the coast road, a bicycle path closed to motorised vehicles. Starting south of the Fort, We realised We were startling farm animals. The sheep are accustomed to motorised vehicles they can hear. Once or twice, on my cycle, I had startled four legged intelligence. Nothing short of me gouging this couples eyes out with my thumbs would startle some.
As We pedalled along idyllic, bucolic Skye Lane
Vagina wasn't as stupid as they cum, just dern close.
Here's some advice for dickbrain. Next time you try to have a dick measuring contest, perhaps you should determine whether your penis is the size of a veneral wart on the penis with whom you're speaking.
So, there I am, on Skye Lane with errant sheep. Not wishing to disturb, I made a noise from my Doc DueF__kall playbook.
As has been my habit
trying to keep Steely Dan out of mi bum, I linguistically profile. Best to use language suitable to the farm animal. I made a sheep sound in my wily, bilingual Japanese California and New York attorney way. Sheep weren't startled. Some replied. Unfortunately, due to rules of professional conduct, I'm unable to reveal the nuances of that communique.
Sheep begin stampeding down bucolic Norsk lane. I'm on a 29er. At least 35 kg of kit on a very, very heavy bike, with a goodly number of heavy accessories. Farm buildings in sight. Downhill this cycle goes. Fast. Sheep, not so fast. Here I am, not pedaling, sheep running sh-tless, and the first thought is, Omg, if one of these falls over dead from a heart attack, I will have to find the farmer and apologise. An old Norwegian tradition teaches that a person causing the death of a sheep of another must have an eye gouged by the owner. Two sheep, both eyes!
Naturally, I took precautions. Sheep gently veered off to another pasture. Tomorrow I'm thinking of circling back to see if I can get that lead sheep in my tent.
Ha! & they think we're perverts?
