Some tics arrive with a bang, some creep in slowly, and others mutate and evolve. Just as “Brian” eventually became “Alan fucks buses”, so my long-standing “Fuck a sheep” tic’s been quietly turning into “Goat sex.”
As well as just popping out on its own, “Goat sex” has an incredible habit of working its way into regular conversations. If I hear Poppy asking Leftwing Idiot how his day’s been, I’ll find myself saying, “Did you tell her about the goat sex?”
And just like “Fuck a sheep”, I’ll often offer advice to anyone who’ll listen about whether they should or shouldn’t have sex with a goat. My tics come out randomly in favour or against, and it’s impossible to predict which way they’ll go until I’ve said it: “Have a good day, don’t have sex with a goat.”
A very long time ago I was talking about “horse balls” a lot and that, along with the sheep and the goats, makes me wonder if this long-standing, seedy fixation on sex with farmyard animals has a while to go before my tics climb over the gate and wander off somewhere else.
I can’t imagine this happening any time soon though. I’ve still got pigs, cows, chickens, hens, rabbits and geese to go.