One of the most unglamorous jobs, that would seem to have been highly desirable, was that of the Irish king.
If the stories are to be believed, the almost-king had to have sex with a mare in public. This must have deterred all but the most determined, or perhaps the loneliest.
As the candidate learned of his decision, he asks the priest incredulously.
"I have to have sex with a horse?"
"That's right."
"You're kidding? My brother put you up to this."
"No, it's in the sacred texts. The King must get it on with a horse."
"Maybe it's a copying error. Someone jokingly said, 'The king must have sex with a young filly.' You know how literal scribes can be."
"Nope. It's with a real horse. It's in all the texts, back to the oldest."
"How about we just engage in some heavy petting?"
"Uh, uh. It has to be stick the royal scepter in and ride her to the finish."
"Do I have to do this more than once? I don't want to come home smelling like a stable and have my wife say, 'You've been with HER again.'"
"Just once. That's all. You just plant the royal seed, show your power and fertility and that's it"
"Well, at least nobody has to know about it but you."
"Oh, no. It's got to be in front of the assembled nobles and priests."
"Did the last king do this?"
"Everyone back to the beginning."
"You know. I'm new here. What did he die of?"
"Hoof and mouth disease."
"I think I'm going to apply for the throne of England. They've got an easier test."
"What's that?"
"Killing a dragon."
