The Goat's Take
This Week's Topic:
GREAT SMOKY DISASTER
(a.k.a. Mother Nature is a Stinking Bitch)
"What?!? You are going camping this early in the year? You will freeze to death!"
"What?!? Camping in Tennessee? Are you sure it will be warm enough?"
Pick one of those responses, and you have the exact reaction that everyone gave when they learned of my plans for one last big camping trip before the Goatress' belly grew too heavy with child. You know, one would tend to think that the weather would be A-Okay when you travel seven hundred miles directly to the south. One would especially think so when the Weather Channel says you will have great weather the whole duration of your camping trip. However, Mother Nature made us look like damn fools, and made all those nay-saying idiots say, "I told you so, you foolish bitches." Fuck Mother Nature, and fuck the Weather Channel.
This was the deal, the Goatress said, "I want to go camping, so hook it up bitch."
To which I replied, "To the south, the land where snow seldom speaks!"
What did www.weather.com (the official website maintained by the Weather Channel) have to say about this? "Hey folks, thank you for seeking the service of www.weather.com! We know weather, because it is all we ever do. If you have any questions about the weather, we are sure to know the answer. We have a maelstrom of meteorologists at your service. Smoky Mountains, huh? That's easy. You will have five days of sunny weather in the mid fifties. Expect a twenty-percent chance of thunderstorms somewhere in the middle of those five days. Enjoy your stay, suckers...er I mean curious and camp-bound web surfers."
Mid-fifties? That's like a goddamn tropical paradise compared to a Dowville winter. So, what if the temperatures would approach near freezing at night? We would be cozy in a mountain of sleeping bags and blankets. We had everything planned, and with a weather forecast like that, nothing would stand in our way. We were prepared, sure as shit, to handle a little bit of chilly weather. Several moments (and many potty stops) later, we were standing in the Smoky Mountains, breathing fresh mountain air and sword fighting Rip Van Winkle while setting up our tents.
That night was cold, but as we said before, we were prepared. The Goatress said she was chilly throughout the night, but only because we didn't set up our sleeping gear with the maximum mountain-ness. Also, we headed to a campsite at a lower elevation the next morning. The result? We were forced to endure absolutely perfect mid-fifties weather with copious sunshine. We set up camp, and made ourselves at home. Goat Dog was pissing all over the place and fist-fighting black bears. We had a fire roaring so loud, that the camp host came over and told us to put our lion away. Before he could realize how horrible that joke was, Goat Dog swallowed his soul in mere seconds. This camping trip was shaping up quite nicely. Take that, nay-sayers...
Just in case, we peeped in the visitor center and looked at their weather forecasting board (A high-tech, push-the-white-plastic-letters-and-numbers-in-the-black-felt-slots kind of weather forecasting board). It said, "You bastards have a one hundred percent chance of getting snowed on tonight, bitches." However, they didn't even have the right date displayed on this high tech forecasting board, so we didn't know how far we could trust these so called, "rangers."
They weren't lying. It started to rain in the late afternoon. To which we flipped the sky the bird and played Yahtzee in the light drizzle. It continued to drizzle much into the night. Once it started to really rain, we headed to the safety of our blanket mountain. There, we remained warm throughout the downpour/sleet storm that ensued all night. We woke up to a lovely falling of snow at a near-freezing temperature. So, when the snowflakes touched anything, they melted into a slush that got into our tent and left everything pleasantly damp. Normally, one day of wet nastiness can be handled. You just put all your shit in the sun the next day, and you are ready to go. However, this was not the case. One visit to the ranger station, and that damn black board showed that there were three straight days of snowstorm ahead. Fuck. It looks like www.weather.com was one-hundred-percent wrong. Mother nature delivered us a roundhouse kick to the balls that we weren't soon to forget. All the locals in the nearby city were saying that a snowstorm was highly unusual for this time of year, and they were very surprised. Yippy-fucking-skippy for Team Goat.
So, instead of freezing our asses off in snow while trying to keep everything dry, we headed home. Somewhere in the middle of Ohio, the shittiest state of all (seriously, Ohio should be completely paved over. It has stupid everything, and I hate it), we decided to find a hotel that was Goat Dog friendly. We did find one, but it was made out of ply-wood, and was the shittiest hotel I had ever seen in my life. I'm not too sure it was Goat Dog friendly after all. I even asked the hotel manager first thing upon my arrival. She was Indian (dot kind, not the feather kind), and looked at me for a full minute before saying in a quite unsure tone, "Yes?" She proceeded not to charge extra for the lodging of one Goat Dog. Communication barriers can save you money, folks. Trust me.
There you have it: one vacation ruined by a lying-ass Weather Channel and that cunt Mother Nature. She even had the audacity to make the weather very enjoyable everywhere in the nation immediately after our vacation ended. What a stupid bitch.
So, this is what I'm going to do to Mother Nature if I ever see her stupid face: I will karate chop her right in the throat and push her down upon the ground where I just so happened to light a fire fifteen minutes earlier. While her body is writhing on the hot coals, I will feverishly stomp on her face to put the flames out, even if there are no flames on her face. Once she is adequately extinguished, I will roll her ass out of the way, and cook some delicious hobo pie pizzas in the smoldering ashes, and explain to Mother Nature that she was the one who denied me of all hobo pie pizza pleasures this past camping trip. I will also explain that I didn't like the fact that she snowed us out of our vacation when we were led to believe that the weather would be quite pleasant. I would explain to her that I don't like idiots saying, "I told you so," in that smug way that idiots do when they are telling you so. I would also apologize for talking with my mouth full of hobo pie pizza goodness, and assure her that her pain would continue just as soon as said hobo pie pizza was in my belly.
After that delightful conversation, I will expertly make a fine pair of earmuffs out of her boobs and wear them for the duration of my time spent with Mother Nature. I would force her to conjure up some wind, so that I could soar through the air using a hang glider made from her back skin and bones. She would, of course, be riding tandem, so that she wouldn't be able to escape (Since the hang glider frame would be made up of mostly leg and arm bones, I doubt she would be escaping anyway, but at least I will allow her to enjoy the gorgeous view while we hang glide (The Goat isn't a total monster, after all)). She will be forced to set up a booth at a carnival, where children can pay ten bucks to use the glistening blood off the exposed muscles in her back for their very own finger paintings. Guess what, Mother Nature? Kids are filthy, so enjoy the multitude of infections that are sure to form upon your back. A month or two locked in the dungeons of Goat Manor should teach you a thing or two about fucking me over. After that time, you will be sent straight to the meat grinder. Looks like the nearest soup kitchen will be getting a generous donation of spaghetti and meatballs, courtesy of the Goat (which, in my opinion, would be one of the best ways to enjoy Mother Nature, that bitch).
--This is the Word of the Goat
GREAT SMOKY DISASTER
(a.k.a. Mother Nature is a Stinking Bitch)
"What?!? You are going camping this early in the year? You will freeze to death!"
"What?!? Camping in Tennessee? Are you sure it will be warm enough?"
Pick one of those responses, and you have the exact reaction that everyone gave when they learned of my plans for one last big camping trip before the Goatress' belly grew too heavy with child. You know, one would tend to think that the weather would be A-Okay when you travel seven hundred miles directly to the south. One would especially think so when the Weather Channel says you will have great weather the whole duration of your camping trip. However, Mother Nature made us look like damn fools, and made all those nay-saying idiots say, "I told you so, you foolish bitches." Fuck Mother Nature, and fuck the Weather Channel.
This was the deal, the Goatress said, "I want to go camping, so hook it up bitch."
To which I replied, "To the south, the land where snow seldom speaks!"
What did www.weather.com (the official website maintained by the Weather Channel) have to say about this? "Hey folks, thank you for seeking the service of www.weather.com! We know weather, because it is all we ever do. If you have any questions about the weather, we are sure to know the answer. We have a maelstrom of meteorologists at your service. Smoky Mountains, huh? That's easy. You will have five days of sunny weather in the mid fifties. Expect a twenty-percent chance of thunderstorms somewhere in the middle of those five days. Enjoy your stay, suckers...er I mean curious and camp-bound web surfers."
Mid-fifties? That's like a goddamn tropical paradise compared to a Dowville winter. So, what if the temperatures would approach near freezing at night? We would be cozy in a mountain of sleeping bags and blankets. We had everything planned, and with a weather forecast like that, nothing would stand in our way. We were prepared, sure as shit, to handle a little bit of chilly weather. Several moments (and many potty stops) later, we were standing in the Smoky Mountains, breathing fresh mountain air and sword fighting Rip Van Winkle while setting up our tents.
That night was cold, but as we said before, we were prepared. The Goatress said she was chilly throughout the night, but only because we didn't set up our sleeping gear with the maximum mountain-ness. Also, we headed to a campsite at a lower elevation the next morning. The result? We were forced to endure absolutely perfect mid-fifties weather with copious sunshine. We set up camp, and made ourselves at home. Goat Dog was pissing all over the place and fist-fighting black bears. We had a fire roaring so loud, that the camp host came over and told us to put our lion away. Before he could realize how horrible that joke was, Goat Dog swallowed his soul in mere seconds. This camping trip was shaping up quite nicely. Take that, nay-sayers...
Just in case, we peeped in the visitor center and looked at their weather forecasting board (A high-tech, push-the-white-plastic-letters-and-numbers-in-the-black-felt-slots kind of weather forecasting board). It said, "You bastards have a one hundred percent chance of getting snowed on tonight, bitches." However, they didn't even have the right date displayed on this high tech forecasting board, so we didn't know how far we could trust these so called, "rangers."
They weren't lying. It started to rain in the late afternoon. To which we flipped the sky the bird and played Yahtzee in the light drizzle. It continued to drizzle much into the night. Once it started to really rain, we headed to the safety of our blanket mountain. There, we remained warm throughout the downpour/sleet storm that ensued all night. We woke up to a lovely falling of snow at a near-freezing temperature. So, when the snowflakes touched anything, they melted into a slush that got into our tent and left everything pleasantly damp. Normally, one day of wet nastiness can be handled. You just put all your shit in the sun the next day, and you are ready to go. However, this was not the case. One visit to the ranger station, and that damn black board showed that there were three straight days of snowstorm ahead. Fuck. It looks like www.weather.com was one-hundred-percent wrong. Mother nature delivered us a roundhouse kick to the balls that we weren't soon to forget. All the locals in the nearby city were saying that a snowstorm was highly unusual for this time of year, and they were very surprised. Yippy-fucking-skippy for Team Goat.
So, instead of freezing our asses off in snow while trying to keep everything dry, we headed home. Somewhere in the middle of Ohio, the shittiest state of all (seriously, Ohio should be completely paved over. It has stupid everything, and I hate it), we decided to find a hotel that was Goat Dog friendly. We did find one, but it was made out of ply-wood, and was the shittiest hotel I had ever seen in my life. I'm not too sure it was Goat Dog friendly after all. I even asked the hotel manager first thing upon my arrival. She was Indian (dot kind, not the feather kind), and looked at me for a full minute before saying in a quite unsure tone, "Yes?" She proceeded not to charge extra for the lodging of one Goat Dog. Communication barriers can save you money, folks. Trust me.
There you have it: one vacation ruined by a lying-ass Weather Channel and that cunt Mother Nature. She even had the audacity to make the weather very enjoyable everywhere in the nation immediately after our vacation ended. What a stupid bitch.
So, this is what I'm going to do to Mother Nature if I ever see her stupid face: I will karate chop her right in the throat and push her down upon the ground where I just so happened to light a fire fifteen minutes earlier. While her body is writhing on the hot coals, I will feverishly stomp on her face to put the flames out, even if there are no flames on her face. Once she is adequately extinguished, I will roll her ass out of the way, and cook some delicious hobo pie pizzas in the smoldering ashes, and explain to Mother Nature that she was the one who denied me of all hobo pie pizza pleasures this past camping trip. I will also explain that I didn't like the fact that she snowed us out of our vacation when we were led to believe that the weather would be quite pleasant. I would explain to her that I don't like idiots saying, "I told you so," in that smug way that idiots do when they are telling you so. I would also apologize for talking with my mouth full of hobo pie pizza goodness, and assure her that her pain would continue just as soon as said hobo pie pizza was in my belly.
After that delightful conversation, I will expertly make a fine pair of earmuffs out of her boobs and wear them for the duration of my time spent with Mother Nature. I would force her to conjure up some wind, so that I could soar through the air using a hang glider made from her back skin and bones. She would, of course, be riding tandem, so that she wouldn't be able to escape (Since the hang glider frame would be made up of mostly leg and arm bones, I doubt she would be escaping anyway, but at least I will allow her to enjoy the gorgeous view while we hang glide (The Goat isn't a total monster, after all)). She will be forced to set up a booth at a carnival, where children can pay ten bucks to use the glistening blood off the exposed muscles in her back for their very own finger paintings. Guess what, Mother Nature? Kids are filthy, so enjoy the multitude of infections that are sure to form upon your back. A month or two locked in the dungeons of Goat Manor should teach you a thing or two about fucking me over. After that time, you will be sent straight to the meat grinder. Looks like the nearest soup kitchen will be getting a generous donation of spaghetti and meatballs, courtesy of the Goat (which, in my opinion, would be one of the best ways to enjoy Mother Nature, that bitch).
--This is the Word of the Goat