A little etymology, class…
In the Sixteenth Century, in the reign of Gaspode the Ghastly, there was a small crop of Irish peasant farmers who, in spite of much haranguing for nonconformist actions and the uprising of individualistic machinations, kept on doing a very clichéd thing.
They kept growing potatoes.
Irish potatoes for that matter.
They did other clichéd things as well, such as going to Catholic church and drinking alcohol until their noses reddened, but that is a subject for another day.
Meanwhile, in parallel Wales, the Welsh shepherds remained dogged in their resolve to tend to the sheep, and, well, have the sheep tend to them. Several male Welsh shepherds were in secret turf wars with their own rams, often precipitated by the ram mating an ewe the Welsh man had declared his own personal ‘bitch’.
The turf was was decidedly a stalemate, usually a cold war, necessitated by the great difficulty that arose as a result of Welsh men being unable to speak Sheep and the ram not being fluent in Welshmanese.
While this was going on, a child was born under the lone star of Poseidon. Two children, actually. Male and female. One Welsh. One Irish.
Farmer and Shepherd.
The Irish farm boy developed an uncanny disdain for Irish potatoes and the local Ginger ale, which he called “Gorilla piss” which has led historians to suggest that he may have at one point tried to generously give fellatio to said primate.
Anyway, as the history books have it, Young Aggrey (as was his name), fled the Irish village where he was raised when he chanced upon his bleak future in a dark alley. His future, it was said, had sneakily offered him potatoes and ale, promising him a life of red noses, gay priests and lumpy starch on a plate.
He fled to Wales, to find their sheep fucked.
Literally and figuratively.
For, you see, the sheep were now being bashed from the back end – by the shepherds – and from the front – by foot and mouth disease.
And it was at this point that Aggrey did chance upon Mileek, young shepherdess. She owned a flock of unperturbed sheep, for, lacking a penis, she had no turf wars with her head ram. Aggrey had his first cliche – he fell in love with Mileek, and they fled to Africa – land of the Greats, and began a farm of Cassava and Sheep.
Aggrey soon took to alcohol, drinking a potent brew called “shelsi”, and it was on one of those nights, when his squiggly pink extension violently demanded asylum that they conceived the child that would have the misfortune of having his parents’ amalgamated nomenclature.
His name was Agreek.
We just put the fancy full stops and brackets to make it look cool.
(And if you read this to the very end, you are one very, very, very bored human)
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