Thursday, October 27, 2005

Goats 'n stuff

Well this happened to me a while ago, but I just decided to dramatise it for some reason that is apparant to no one, not even me. It's just something that happened when my Dad was with me. I miss you, Dad.

I decided to bore you all silly with my exciting day. Because I'm nice like that. Sit down, pull up a cushion, make yourself comfortable, and listen now to my tale. Oh yes, I'm a storyteller now. So sit down and desist the locomotion of thine maxillo, children. (that means be quiet)


One ordinary, sunny day (I've always wanted to write that) after I returned home from town, I commenced tidying my room. because I'm efficient and neat and productive and tidy like that, and am also interested in the physiology and aerodynamics of porcine aviation.

Then, me and my Dad recieve a knock on our door, because some people have spotted two goats wondering down the street. So's we stick our heads out the door, and indeed, spot two goats merrily wandering down the street, clopping as they go.

So sez moi dad, "We should put them back where they escaped from."

"Aye." Sez oi. "Wait! Are goats traditionally aggressive? If'n I'ma gonna be takin' on a goat, I want a big stick."

"Agreed" Sez the pater.

So's I run upstairs to my room/pit of hell/room of wonder/haven of crap/laboratory, and select two big sticks. Yes, yes I do actually have many large and varying sticks in my room, some suited to twirling like a baton, some suited to beating trespassers to death. Just go with it.

So out we trot, and confront the goats. We know that they belong to this evil old ha - um, very unpleasant woman who lives down at the very end of the road. Mainly because her bloody menagerie is always escaping and annoying our street, but anyhoo, the goats. The stars of the show! Let's call the first one, Biggy. Why? Because he was big, dumbass. And let's call the second one....Averagley andey Adequately Proportionedey. Umm, no on second thoughts let's just call him Smally. Smally is white with brown splotches and liddle stubby horns. Biggy is black with white splodges, and big eff off I'll-shove-these-here-pointy-things-into-your-spleeen-if-you-so-much-as-look-at-me-funny horns. Yes, children, that was the most horrific and blatant abuse of the hyphen that you are ever likely to see, please do not look to me for grammatical guidance.

Now as we two brave soldiers, who resemble two retarded Irish shepherds NOT at all, approch Biggy and Smalley, Biggy starts to walk towards us. He's eyeing us, he is, while Smalley is clopping away in the background. 'OoOOoo' thinks I, he doesn't like us...Fortunately, as soon as we two retarded Iri - brave souls get near, they turn their stubby upturned tails and run. Run, all the way back down the dead end where they emerged from.

Whoooo! Mission Accomplished! We are the champions, the hero shaped champions, et al.

Oh not really. Did you think it would be that easy?

Once we get them back to their garden, we realise that we have no idea how to get the gate open. And I'll say it now, it was NOTHING to do with us being short arses and not being able to reach the catch on the other side....NOTHING! Got it? Huh? Nada! *coughs* It wasn't. Well, now that we've got that cleared up, let's move on. I'm not short.

So's Dad leaves me to keep the goats from escaping up the road again, while he momentarily departs to summon assistance. It's all going well, until Biggy starts clopping towards me again. Smally, meanwhile, is still bloody frolicking merrily in the background. Now, I warn Biggy not to eat my cardigan, and reach down to pet him. He's quite cute, really. Nice cute little goaty smile, big dumb puppyish eyes, curly beard, and a fluffy coat that looks kinda cuddly. So naturally, he decides that this moment would be a good time to poo everywhere. And can I just say, that goat poo is reeaaallly seriously, have you seen it? It's like peanuts. Anyway.

He sniffs of my hand, and then the sneaky bastard tries to slip past me. Oh! Yes, goats are tricksy, they are. But I leaps into action, and butts him backwards with the stick. He reverses. And Smally goes 'frolic! frolic!' in the background. Then, Biggy astonishes me with an unforeseen and slightly out of place action in one so wide and stumpy, and gracefully leaps over my stick!! Bastard! "Hey! You!" Says I. Momentarily distracted, Smally takes this opportunity to cease of the frolicking, and shoot past me. Goats play dumb. This I have learned.

So, I shoot after the escapees, and accidentally chase them further up the road before I realise what I'm doing. I skid past Dad and our new assistant, Ron. The goats stop running. Kindly refusing to comment, Dad and Ron wander back down the road, to open up the gate into the goats garden, leaving me to herd those liddle buggers back to where they were a minute ago. Now, I don't know much about goats, but apparantly, they look cute and then poo, they are weird, and prone to violent mood swings.






What happened next?




Okay I'm done now.

Well, I don't know what got into their fuzzy little thickhead skulls, but it wasn't notions of peace and love for all mankind. Because the little fuckers charged at me! Now, I thought that all goats were kind of cute until then...and then my last memory of meeting a goat resurfaced, and I remember how it had knocked me over and started ingesting my elbow with gusto. With this in mind, a flicker of concern passed through my mind. Said flicker of concern went something like this:

'Aww, bloody hell, I've got to take them back to where they were. Okay, heeeeeeeere goaty goaty goaty! Aww...Smally is kinda cute, really *observes the frolicking* and Biggy ain't so bad...Now come on....fear the know it's scary, don't deny it....Ah - oh. Wait a minute. They're charging. Oh, shhhhii - Runawayrunawayrunaway!!!' clop clop CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP

And there go the cloppy pestilences, thundering towards me, crashing into each other as they go. What the hell?? What did I do? What did I doo? But before I get the chance to run, and most likely get stomped into the dirt, Biggy and Smally run around me. Yes, around me. Turns out, that they were running towards the garden from whence they came.

Huh. Well what do you know. I know in my heart, that they were scared of me. Yes. They sensed my intentions, not to mention my undeniable authority, and hastened to obey me so fast that they almost broke my legs backwards in the process. I mean, what else could it be? I had a stick. Ahem. Yeah, that must have been it. Yep.

I felt momentarily bad for depriving you of an accurate mental image of me running down a street with farmyard animals chasing me, but I got over it.

So I quickly chase the goats this time, in the vain hope that it will look like I drove them that way. Hey, shut up, maybe I did. Well I pretended I did anyway. Shhhh.

So our new friend Ron helps us open the gate, and amongst much prodding and shooing, in go the goats! Huzzah! Hooray! And, um, that's it. Gate closed. Dramatised for your entertainment. But true! And dramatic too...I mean, I could have had to wander around with a big ol' goat shaped bruise in my leg forever! But I didn't. Hooray!

And that was my day. Well, it ain't over yet, but I'm staying indoors now. Us retarded Iri -uh, superheros got thiings to do, y'know.


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