The Goat's Take:
This Week's Topic:
GESTATION
Hey Cadets, what the fuck? It's been a little while since I've pestered your retinas. Did you want to read a Goat post? No? Too bad, I'm giving you a double-header whether you like it or not. This first post will be short and to the point, like my penis.
The new word on the street concerns the baby in which the Goatress is successfully incubating within her uterus. It looks like we are having a little girl. What does this mean to you? You better be buying her some pink frilly shit before I beat your ass, that's what. All shall love our little princess.
And don't bother making the comment "Are you sure you aren't just having a boy? Maybe the penis was too small to see in the ultrasound because he takes after his dad?" I've already heard twenty variations. It's not my fault that I have to use precision instruments just to aim while taking a leak.
Upon talking about this matter (the baby girl, not my Half-Orc) with Chino Captain Ron, we have decided that our little girls (he failed to pump out the Y-chromosomes as well) will form an all-girl rock band that will tour the countryside. Chino and myself will extort drugs and money from roadies and fans while our little girls will rock the faces of every person on this planet. We just need other little girls to be in the band as well. I know Stephaneezy-fo-Sheezy has a little girl, and I bet it we asked the Gook nice enough, he would join the band, too.
The Goatress is less weirded out by this whole thing, and isn't sick all of the time. Instead, she has extreme moods. She can't be mildly frustrated, or just a little excited. It's full throttle, dude. These emotions bubble from the seams of her soul as she tries hard to contain them. Nowadays, it's all or none. And by 'none,' I mean 'sleep.'
How about an update on the not-drinking thing? Sure: Goat Manor has been booze free since January (except when others visit and bring booze that they consume). Our ice cubes are bored and they smell like freezer burn. We had to reduce the amount of ice trays. When we both drank, that's all there was in that damn freezer. It was wall-to-wall ice cube trays. Albeit, they were always empty until Buttsex filled them while muttering begrudging remarks. Now, with an under-abundance of ice, we finally have room in our freezer for such things as food. Not drinking is easy. After doing it since January, I fully confirm my belief that those bastards in AA really are gigantic pussies.
So creeps, that's it. Next time you see the Goatress, be sure to point out her Preggo-waddle. She loves that shit.
--This is the Word of the Goat
GESTATION
Hey Cadets, what the fuck? It's been a little while since I've pestered your retinas. Did you want to read a Goat post? No? Too bad, I'm giving you a double-header whether you like it or not. This first post will be short and to the point, like my penis.
The new word on the street concerns the baby in which the Goatress is successfully incubating within her uterus. It looks like we are having a little girl. What does this mean to you? You better be buying her some pink frilly shit before I beat your ass, that's what. All shall love our little princess.
And don't bother making the comment "Are you sure you aren't just having a boy? Maybe the penis was too small to see in the ultrasound because he takes after his dad?" I've already heard twenty variations. It's not my fault that I have to use precision instruments just to aim while taking a leak.
Upon talking about this matter (the baby girl, not my Half-Orc) with Chino Captain Ron, we have decided that our little girls (he failed to pump out the Y-chromosomes as well) will form an all-girl rock band that will tour the countryside. Chino and myself will extort drugs and money from roadies and fans while our little girls will rock the faces of every person on this planet. We just need other little girls to be in the band as well. I know Stephaneezy-fo-Sheezy has a little girl, and I bet it we asked the Gook nice enough, he would join the band, too.
The Goatress is less weirded out by this whole thing, and isn't sick all of the time. Instead, she has extreme moods. She can't be mildly frustrated, or just a little excited. It's full throttle, dude. These emotions bubble from the seams of her soul as she tries hard to contain them. Nowadays, it's all or none. And by 'none,' I mean 'sleep.'
How about an update on the not-drinking thing? Sure: Goat Manor has been booze free since January (except when others visit and bring booze that they consume). Our ice cubes are bored and they smell like freezer burn. We had to reduce the amount of ice trays. When we both drank, that's all there was in that damn freezer. It was wall-to-wall ice cube trays. Albeit, they were always empty until Buttsex filled them while muttering begrudging remarks. Now, with an under-abundance of ice, we finally have room in our freezer for such things as food. Not drinking is easy. After doing it since January, I fully confirm my belief that those bastards in AA really are gigantic pussies.
So creeps, that's it. Next time you see the Goatress, be sure to point out her Preggo-waddle. She loves that shit.
--This is the Word of the Goat