The Goat's Take
This Week's Topic:
GOAT MANOR RELOCATION: PHASE I
Finally, the wildest dreams are coming true for the neighbors of the Goat, because Goat Manor has decided to move. The moment that 'for sale' sign went up, we heard cheering all up and down the street. Someone baked us a farewell cake, and I'm fairly certain they took a huge dump in that cake. No more drunk people peeing all over the place (although that hasn't been too much of a problem as of late), no more two-in-the-fucking-morning sword fights. No more metal music and/or racist comments blaring out of the window...at least no more of that shit at the old address.
No, the actual Goat Manor did not move, but the essence of Goat Manor merely transferred to a new and fresh locale. It has relocated to a place far away from old-ass idiots and melancholy ghost bastard children. It is a new place, where the Goat family will annoy and enrage a new set of neighbors. Luckily for them, the New Goat Manor doesn't have grass yet, so they can't even get pissed at the Goat for not getting out there and cutting it, yet. Take this, bastards: I'll be ambitious and get out there to mow my dirt, and you better believe that I will make sure it sprays all over their cars. Let's see how they like that.
You may note that the topic above mentions a 'phase one,' but really that's all that was needed. Needing more phases is strictly for chumps. We relocated in one phase, and that was that. There is one empty old Goat Manor, and one new Goat Manor full of a Goat family. Also, there is an excellent sniper window looking out from the Goat's new writing place. That's right; the secret underground bunker (not that the old one was underground in the first place) is now a sky battlement in the shape of a secret underground bunker in which I can assassinate any unwelcome asswipes.
It looks like one of the Goat's new, down-the-street neighbors (I think he is forbidden to enter our gated kingdom of a subdivision on Dowville ordinances alone) is a crazy Vietnam veteran. He creeps around his yard in nothing but impossibly short cutoff blue jeans. This guy's yard is full of useless crap, and I mean full of it. There are lawn trinkets, yard ornaments, and tons of other gaudy and ugly shit that screams "white trashiest." He is old and grizzled with a Santa Claus/child molester beard, and often wears green paint on his face. Naturally, we have dubbed him: "Crazy Naked Guy." He has a television set up in his driveway, where he lounges around and watches his favorite shows dressed in what we assume to be nothing but his genitalia...Finally, there is someone to take the attention away from me when I decide to take a drunken walk down the street in my pajama pants with my balls hanging out. If someone stops me and orders me to tuck in my bulldog cheeks before they call the cops, I can say, "At least I'm not Crazy Naked Guy...his shell-shocked ass is dragging your property values way down with his home-made signs and circus tent décor." Scapegoats are awesome.
Selling the old Goat Manor has become a challenge. First of all, I hate selling stuff. It sucks. Especially when no one wants to buy. We've been trying for goodness knows how fucking long. I guess machine gun turrets and mirrored ceilings went out of style a long time ago, or something. Either way, the sheer amount of realtor cards that is building up in there is mind-boggling. It is like a goddamned sea of realtor cards. Imagine wading through a Chuck E. Cheese ball pit that gives you paper cuts on your tender areas. Those realtors toss those cards around like Gambit on speed (sans the explosions). They jump at the chance to show off their realtor cards. I want to become a realtor so that I can whip that shit out everywhere I go. I'd leave my card in unexpected places, like taped under the toilet seat or wrapped around the household's primary dildo.
So, I guess what I'm trying to say is, expect a big housewarming bash at the New Goat Manor sometime down the road. It's high time we piss off our new neighbors (hell, you have to start sometime, and it might as well be before they get somewhat attached to you (betrayal of neighborly feelings leads to midnight stabbings, and the Goat really isn't that kosher with that kind of shit (unless the Goat is at the giving end of the knife, obviously (can there be anymore parenthesized sentences in this post?)))). And what the hell, for giggles and fucks, we might throw a shindig at the old empty Manor just to piss off the old neighbors one last time. Fuck those assholes.
--The Goat
GOAT MANOR RELOCATION: PHASE I
Finally, the wildest dreams are coming true for the neighbors of the Goat, because Goat Manor has decided to move. The moment that 'for sale' sign went up, we heard cheering all up and down the street. Someone baked us a farewell cake, and I'm fairly certain they took a huge dump in that cake. No more drunk people peeing all over the place (although that hasn't been too much of a problem as of late), no more two-in-the-fucking-morning sword fights. No more metal music and/or racist comments blaring out of the window...at least no more of that shit at the old address.
No, the actual Goat Manor did not move, but the essence of Goat Manor merely transferred to a new and fresh locale. It has relocated to a place far away from old-ass idiots and melancholy ghost bastard children. It is a new place, where the Goat family will annoy and enrage a new set of neighbors. Luckily for them, the New Goat Manor doesn't have grass yet, so they can't even get pissed at the Goat for not getting out there and cutting it, yet. Take this, bastards: I'll be ambitious and get out there to mow my dirt, and you better believe that I will make sure it sprays all over their cars. Let's see how they like that.
You may note that the topic above mentions a 'phase one,' but really that's all that was needed. Needing more phases is strictly for chumps. We relocated in one phase, and that was that. There is one empty old Goat Manor, and one new Goat Manor full of a Goat family. Also, there is an excellent sniper window looking out from the Goat's new writing place. That's right; the secret underground bunker (not that the old one was underground in the first place) is now a sky battlement in the shape of a secret underground bunker in which I can assassinate any unwelcome asswipes.
It looks like one of the Goat's new, down-the-street neighbors (I think he is forbidden to enter our gated kingdom of a subdivision on Dowville ordinances alone) is a crazy Vietnam veteran. He creeps around his yard in nothing but impossibly short cutoff blue jeans. This guy's yard is full of useless crap, and I mean full of it. There are lawn trinkets, yard ornaments, and tons of other gaudy and ugly shit that screams "white trashiest." He is old and grizzled with a Santa Claus/child molester beard, and often wears green paint on his face. Naturally, we have dubbed him: "Crazy Naked Guy." He has a television set up in his driveway, where he lounges around and watches his favorite shows dressed in what we assume to be nothing but his genitalia...Finally, there is someone to take the attention away from me when I decide to take a drunken walk down the street in my pajama pants with my balls hanging out. If someone stops me and orders me to tuck in my bulldog cheeks before they call the cops, I can say, "At least I'm not Crazy Naked Guy...his shell-shocked ass is dragging your property values way down with his home-made signs and circus tent décor." Scapegoats are awesome.
Selling the old Goat Manor has become a challenge. First of all, I hate selling stuff. It sucks. Especially when no one wants to buy. We've been trying for goodness knows how fucking long. I guess machine gun turrets and mirrored ceilings went out of style a long time ago, or something. Either way, the sheer amount of realtor cards that is building up in there is mind-boggling. It is like a goddamned sea of realtor cards. Imagine wading through a Chuck E. Cheese ball pit that gives you paper cuts on your tender areas. Those realtors toss those cards around like Gambit on speed (sans the explosions). They jump at the chance to show off their realtor cards. I want to become a realtor so that I can whip that shit out everywhere I go. I'd leave my card in unexpected places, like taped under the toilet seat or wrapped around the household's primary dildo.
So, I guess what I'm trying to say is, expect a big housewarming bash at the New Goat Manor sometime down the road. It's high time we piss off our new neighbors (hell, you have to start sometime, and it might as well be before they get somewhat attached to you (betrayal of neighborly feelings leads to midnight stabbings, and the Goat really isn't that kosher with that kind of shit (unless the Goat is at the giving end of the knife, obviously (can there be anymore parenthesized sentences in this post?)))). And what the hell, for giggles and fucks, we might throw a shindig at the old empty Manor just to piss off the old neighbors one last time. Fuck those assholes.
--The Goat