Conversations with Goat
As some of you know, I recently broke my leg. The question on everyone's mind is "how did you break your leg?" "What happened to your leg?" and "why come chickens don't eat sauerkraut?"
No one seems to believe my stock answer of a dog breaking my leg. Okay, I admit it. I've been telling a lie. The dog really didn't break my leg. I've just been covering up the truth. After many sleepless nights I'm ready to come clean and tell all of you, once and for all, how I managed to break my leg.
My goat broke it. He had tied on a drunk one Tuesday night and was passed out in the driveway. I needed to go to work, but he wouldn't get up.
"Get up, goat!"
"Go away," he said, "I'm sleeping!"
"Goat, wake your ass up and get out of the driveway. You're going to make me late."
He just grunted and rolled over. After last nights drunken debauchery with all the hookers, fire trucks and orangutangs I was fed up with his tomfoolery. I reared back and kicked him; he didn't even budge.
I kicked him again. He moaned, but didn't open his eyes. "Oh my blasted goodness! I'm trying to sleep here-uh!"
I reared back and kicked him two more times, but he didn't get up.
Well, it turned out he had had enough of my shit, too. I cocked my foot back over Lousisna somewhere and drove it in for a fine and good goat ass kicking. What I didn't expect was that he was ready for me. Just before my toes met goat ass, he opened up his butthole and my foot went right inside! Talk about putting your foot up someones ass!
I don't know who was more surprised, him or me, but we were both in a state of shock. He panicked and clenched his butt-hole down so tight I couldn't pull lose. I started screaming, "Relax, goat, relax!"
He was screaming "I can't relax! I'm hungover and I'm being probed!"
Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, he set off to running. Now, I always knew my goat was fast, but I'd never seen an animal move like this. Chester Cheeta would be jealous. But, of course, my leg was stuck in his bung hole and he dragged me all across the yard.
He ran and ran and ran and I bouned along behind, being pulled by my leg. We crossed the swamps of Lousiana, ran past the MARTA in Georgia and made our way plum up the eastern seaboard. He drug me across theWhite House lawn and turned west.
Just about the time I saw Mount Rushmore on the horizon, I knew I had to do something. I grabbed at the ground but just came away with handfulls of dirt, grass and dung beetles. I caught hold of a tree once, but it came right up by the roots. It wasn't until we reached Pike's Peak that things changed.
I managed to get a firm grip on the top of the mountain and the built up momentum swung us around like a carousel. My leg shift in the ruminant rectum and my goat screamed out once more. He took to the air and flew into the sky, me and my entrapped leg powerless to follow.
He had a hard time gaining altitude at first. I ran into trees and rocks and even a bear. Once we got high enough, I even hit a 747 midflight! After that, a flock of geese made a V formation with my goat at the center and we flew like that all the way to California.
Once we got close to the Pacific, my goat sneezed. That was all it took! my leg came out with a large popping sound. My goat lost his air traction and we tumbled to the ground in a terrible mess. You might have heard about it had we landed in Texas, but in Cali that kind of thing happens quite often. I heard that it happens in Florida also, but it's yet to be confirmed.
So, I called my wife and she drove all the way out to Cali to get me, but she wouldn't let the goat ride back, so he had to hitchike. By the time he got home, I had already had surgery and was laid up with my broken leg; frustrated and out of work for six weeks.
I swear, that's what really happened. If you don't believe me, just ask the dog.