The Goat's Take
This Week's Topic:
GOAT BABY
Greetings from the sniper cove atop Goat Manor. Once upon a time in November, the Goat posted:
"P.S. Goat Baby arrived last month on the nineteenth.
She is already smarter than most of you idiots and at least ten times more attractive.
Nobody is better than the Goat at making babies. NOBODY.
Currently, I am teaching her how to tie her shoes, play guitar, and plan cunning military strategies.
The Goatress is doing fine, although she is still walking like a cowboy."
Time has elapsed to the point that she has more than seven months under her belt, and already she has conquered several third-world countries. She has also already mastered long division, and saying "da-da." The Goat assumes this is out of love, but I am not totally certain, because she loves to beat the living crap out of my face and pull out what little hair remains on my head.
The Goatress no longer saunters like the Duke, and she has taken to kicking the ass of anyone who might even think of harming our little Goat Baby. One time a retarded person ran up to her wildly scratching at the air with clumsy hands screaming, "Oh Baby! Baby! Let me Touch."
I thought the Goatress was going to rip his retarded throat right out of his neck. I was like, "Holy Moses!! You just totally almost punched that mentally challenged person right in the teeth. Have you no shame?"
All she said as she ground her teeth was, "Just be glad that son of a bitch wasn't blind." Man, that bitch really hates blind people.
But seriously, taking care of a baby is a piece of cake, and I wish people would stop telling me, "You just wait, you are going to hate it when they start (fill in the blank with whatever their dumb kids did to drive them crazy)." Nope, I'm not going to hate it. I'll just turn them over to Uncle Buttsex, so he can throw all their toys away and teach them lessons.
Lately, she has been making ogre/caveman-like grunting noises. While this is funny as hell, the Goat worries that his little princess will turn into a spiky-haired, motorcycle-riding softball champion. Wait, there is a simple solution to that: I can just hand her over to Uncle Charlie (the Gook), and he can teach her all about how to act like a girl (OH SNAP).
It won't be long now before she roams the Manor on two feet instead of pulling herself along in an army-crawl. That shit is funny, because if you have ever seen a baby trying to learn how to walk, they look like stinking drunkards falling over shit and stumbling to and fro.
Soon she will own your soul, that's all I'm trying to say here.
--The Goat
P.S. Goat Baby needs an official Goat-Post-Nickname, so get to work and send me some suggestions. If I hear from no one, she will be forever known as The Bean.
GOAT BABY
Greetings from the sniper cove atop Goat Manor. Once upon a time in November, the Goat posted:
"P.S. Goat Baby arrived last month on the nineteenth.
She is already smarter than most of you idiots and at least ten times more attractive.
Nobody is better than the Goat at making babies. NOBODY.
Currently, I am teaching her how to tie her shoes, play guitar, and plan cunning military strategies.
The Goatress is doing fine, although she is still walking like a cowboy."
Time has elapsed to the point that she has more than seven months under her belt, and already she has conquered several third-world countries. She has also already mastered long division, and saying "da-da." The Goat assumes this is out of love, but I am not totally certain, because she loves to beat the living crap out of my face and pull out what little hair remains on my head.
The Goatress no longer saunters like the Duke, and she has taken to kicking the ass of anyone who might even think of harming our little Goat Baby. One time a retarded person ran up to her wildly scratching at the air with clumsy hands screaming, "Oh Baby! Baby! Let me Touch."
I thought the Goatress was going to rip his retarded throat right out of his neck. I was like, "Holy Moses!! You just totally almost punched that mentally challenged person right in the teeth. Have you no shame?"
All she said as she ground her teeth was, "Just be glad that son of a bitch wasn't blind." Man, that bitch really hates blind people.
But seriously, taking care of a baby is a piece of cake, and I wish people would stop telling me, "You just wait, you are going to hate it when they start (fill in the blank with whatever their dumb kids did to drive them crazy)." Nope, I'm not going to hate it. I'll just turn them over to Uncle Buttsex, so he can throw all their toys away and teach them lessons.
Lately, she has been making ogre/caveman-like grunting noises. While this is funny as hell, the Goat worries that his little princess will turn into a spiky-haired, motorcycle-riding softball champion. Wait, there is a simple solution to that: I can just hand her over to Uncle Charlie (the Gook), and he can teach her all about how to act like a girl (OH SNAP).
It won't be long now before she roams the Manor on two feet instead of pulling herself along in an army-crawl. That shit is funny, because if you have ever seen a baby trying to learn how to walk, they look like stinking drunkards falling over shit and stumbling to and fro.
Soon she will own your soul, that's all I'm trying to say here.
--The Goat
P.S. Goat Baby needs an official Goat-Post-Nickname, so get to work and send me some suggestions. If I hear from no one, she will be forever known as The Bean.