I have mentioned goats a couple of times here and there. On the front page I mentioned writing about them and I haven’t and that does make me a liar.
Since I strive to be unflinchingly honest with you, I will talk about goats. This is not because I currently have no other ideas, it’s solely to be accountable for my words. Yes.
There are any number of ways that I can see myself checking out. When I laugh hysterically – which is often for no apparent reason – I become nearly incapacitated. I ugly-face laugh, snort, stop breathing (seriously,) shake my hands in front of me (what my husband calls the “funny drums,”) lose the power to remain standing (I have landed on my behind on the sidewalk,) and fall up two flights of stairs (no seriously, not kidding, I’ve done that twice, there are witnesses.) But if there is any single thing that consistently tries to kill me, it’s goats.
Goats are, without question, the most absurd, adorable, and singularly ridiculous animal in existence. I love them, but they are.
Look, they have beards. They have rectangle pupils. They chew sideways – yes I know lots of animals do, but they look annoyed like all the time. Just always. They have knobby knees; their knees are knobby you guys! They climb trees like a bunch of little bearded, sideways-chewing cats.
Is that not enough? Can we talk about the jumping? Can we talk about the sideways jumping, like they can’t quite walk because they are playing an eternal game of “the floor is lava?”
They eat like, cans and bags and things! Have you ever watched a goat eat a can? Looking at you with those weird eyes, a label for string beans stickin’ out of its mouth as it sideways chews? And I know that isn’t true, I know they’re not eating that can, I know this. But it doesn’t make the whole situation less hilarious!
Bleating. There is no more intrinsically funny sound. Well, the “sproioioioioing” of a spring or “thooop!” of something shooting out of an air cannon I suppose. Pretty much anything Wile E. Coyote does. But bleating is right up there.
I think I’ve made my case.
Let me tell you this, I would like to die the way I lived, so my death should be funny. And I want people to ugly-face laugh, snort, stop breathing, shake their hands in front of them, lose the power to remain standing, and fall up two flights of stairs when they think about it. I want to make people laugh from beyond the grave. I’m going to haunt my friends with Warner Bros. cartoon sounds and bleating and giggling at things I think are funny, like the word “duty.” (Fifty years on this earth and that word is still funny.)
Now, go look at a goat and tell me it’s not funnier than a bug playin’ a slide whistle.
Oh hell, now I’m seeing a bug playin’ a slide whistle.
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