A farmer had a French farmhand working with him to help castrate his sheep. As the farmer castrated the sheep, the French farmhand took the parts and was about to throw them in the trashcan when the farmer said: ‘Don’t throw them away. My wife fries them for supper. We call them sheep fries.’
At the end of a hard day, the farmhand asked the farmer’s wife what was for supper.
‘Sheep fries,’ she replied.
He wasn’t too keen on the idea but, having tasted frogs’ legs in his native France, he was willing to experiment. So he gave them a try and, to his surprise, he found them quite tasty.
For the next two nights, he had sheep fries for supper but then on the fourth night, he was nowhere to be seen. The farmer asked his wife where the farmhand had gone.
‘It’s odd,’ she said. ‘When he came in and asked what was for supper, I told him French fries, and he ran like hell!’
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