“Which I plan to do,” said the King. “While you expire from playing goat to the kingdom’s ewes.” “Is that an attempt at a metaphor?” “Not in the least,” said King Billy. “Merely an observation.” “I haven’t forced my attentions on a ewe since my boyhood days on the farm,” I said. “I promised my mother in song that I wouldn’t indulge in sheep fucking again without asking her permission.” While King Billy looked on mournfully, I sang a few bars of an ancient ditty called “There’ll Never Be Another Ewe.”
