Bull's Hit.

BULL’S HIT

There was a 'Spot the Bull' competition in Farmer's weekly some time ago, or was it the Sheep Shaggers Chronicle? Never mind. The competition was a variation on Spot The Ball, it was called Spot The Bull. Apparently you can 'spot the bull' from looking at the shape of a cow's udder, I imagine that the cow in question was sired by aforementioned bull. The first prize in the competition was---------wait for it, £3000 worth of top grade bull's semen. Well it would hardly be cow's semen now would it?
Picture this scene:somewhere in Bucolicshire. Oh by the way my father had this accent.
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"Ay up Arthur, wot you be a-doin' with yer 'ed up that cow's arseole?" Ned the local campanologist and closet Morris dancer was used to coming across strange scenes at the 'Arthur Grint's home of Bucolic Bovinery', but this would really take some explaining. The cow began to make a sort of wailing noise - as well it might. In fact if Ned wasn't mistaken, it was yodelling, or seemed to be. 'Maybe it's a Swiss cow' thought Ned.
"Well oim buggered" muttered Ned to himself "well oi thort oi'd 'erd everthin' an' seed everythin' an' that be no mistek, oi knew 'e were fond of walking around with ferrets down 'is trousers, an' loiked fondlin' 'is sheep when 'e were a bit lonely, but this teks idiosynchronwotcity to brobdinigerian heights". Ned walked up behind Arthur and gave him a swift kick up the arse. The cow seemed to bellow ‘oi gerrof!’ Arthur pulled his head out of the cow’s backside with a resounding plop.
“Wot yah do that fer?” enquired Arthur flicking bits of cowshit from his eyelashes. “Well oi thort yoom finally gone round the twist with yer ‘ed up that cow’s arse loik – pardon me if there’s a lojkul explination”.
“Oo ar yeh, oi wuz jus’ practisin’ me yodellin’” said Arthur.
“Yodellin?” said Ned.
“There’s the echo” exclaimed Arthur,
“Noo that were me” ejaculated Ned.
“Yoo in the competition too?” grunted Arthur.
“Wot competition?” vociferated Ned.
“It were in the Ferret Fondler’s Gazette” yammered Arthur “You can win a years free supply of top grade bull’s semen if’n you can spot the bull from the shape of the cows udder, so oi thort oi’d steal a march onn the rest of ‘em boi gattin’ zum ‘o’ that there inside information loik. “Well oi discovered that the inside was quite echo-y so oi thort oid get some practise in for the yodelling contest at Shit-upon-Peas in Orgust.”
Ned took in a deep breath and eventually said “Well that’s alright then, it fair took the wind outa me sails and rattled me dovecotes all in the one doin’s. Seein’ you like that reminded me of the missus when she gave birth to our Sharon – all arse and fetlocks she were, thrustin’ its way into the world; God the memory meks me shudder.”
“Well she is a bit of a heifer in’t she?” said Arthur.
“Cheeky bugger” said Ned “but now that you mention it the missus did say that she were tekkin’ ‘er out for a bit ‘o’ grazin’ later on today.”
There was a silence that meant nothing in particular.
“So wos this about winnin’ a bucket ‘o’ sperm at the yodellin’ contest Arthur?”
“Noo, not at the yodellin’ contest!” said Arthur with no little exasperation, “it’s a competition in the Ferret Fondlers Gazette – en’t you bin a-lisnen? “if’n you can guess the propinquity of the parentage from a picture of a cow’s udder you can win gallons of champion bull’s sperm.” Ned’s eyes were beginning to glaze over.
“But you wuz in there ‘avin’ a yodel wun’t yuh?” he spluttered, becoming more confused by the minute.
“Arr an’ oi told yuz why ‘n’ all, oi wuz jus’ killing two birds with one stone so to speak” retorted Arthur.
“Birds? Birds?” Gasped Ned “oi’ve ‘erd ‘o’ bats in the wossname but birds up a cow’s bum is a ‘omily that fair defeats me.”
“That’s not a ‘omily that’s a proverb that is” sniffed Arthur.
“Proverb shmoverb” said Ned, slipping into yiddish for no discernable reason. “Oi don’t need no bull’s sperm anyway oi got enough of my own.”
“Ah that’s where yoom be wrong, you can’t ‘ave enough bull’s sperm, if you got more than you need for your own personal use – so to speak” said Arthur “you can sell the sperm on.”
“Where to, Tesco?” said Ned “oi can just see it nestlin’ next to the yoggits in the dairy section, oi suppose you could always do 2 for 1 if it didn’t sell well enough. Mind you oi’d ‘ate to see someone mistakenly pickin’ up a tub thinkin’ it were plain yoggit, it don’t bear thinkin’ about.”
“Anyway wos this yodellin’ competition all about then?”
“Yodellin’” said Arthur.
“I knows that, tha’s why it’s called a yodellin’ competition, they’d ‘ardly be callin’ it a goldfish eatin’ contest now would they?” said Ned, with emphasis.
“I wuz in one ‘o’ them once” said Arthur.
“In what?” said Ned.
“Goldfish eatin’ contest, I came third”
“’Ow many did you eat?”
“Forty two”
“Good God, I didn’t think that was legal”
“Wot, to eat forty two goldfish in one go?”
“No, to eat ‘em at all!”
“Whenjoo ‘ave a fish ‘n’ chip supper last?”
“Last night”
“I rest my case”
“No tha’s different”
“Snot”
Ned’s eyes began to glaze over as did his cerebral cortex.
“O.K. wot do you win at this yodellin’ contest?” said Ned.
“A week’s yodellin’ ‘oliday in Switzerland” said Arthur.
“Wos the second prize?” said Ned.
“A two weeks yodellin’ ‘oliday in Switzerland.
“Oi daren’t ask wot the third prize is” said Ned.