Cornered Goat Acts Passive Then Turns Aggressive, Pyschologists Struggle to Label Disorder
Waring, TX - I have uncovered an unfortunate pattern here at The Funny Farm. It seems, in no uncertain terms, that every animal I have introduced into our Q.N.E. (Quasi-Natural Environment) has one characteristic in common:
THEY ARE ALL SPASTIC.
I'm not sure how this happened but it has become in a word frustrating. Avid readers of The Whimsical World might recall how I tried to start a chicken program that collapsed in ruins thanks in part to the antics of several spastic chickens.
I thought I was past the spastic phase of my livestock program when the chickens all dispersed to "other side of the road." Boy was I wrong. As many of you have been reading, I now own a spastic goat. It has already escaped twice and gone over to M.E. "The South Side Slayer" Montgomery's junkyard. Both times it took extreme measures to capture it.
Several days ago I awoke early and went to my laundry shed out back to get some clothes done early. I paid no mind to the fact that the door of the shed was open slightly. This was not a horror movie. I had no reason to stare aghast at the cracked door only to have someone in the audience yell "don't go in there!"
So I went in.
I went in only to discover Willamina the Goat standing near the washer. Before I could put "goat" and "run away" together in my head, Willamina gathered a head of steam and bolted straight for the door. The only problem at this point was that I was standing in the door. Four feet from the door Williamina launched herself with the agility and grace of a Bulgarian trapeze artist and met me at eye level, crashing into my left shoulder and the light switch. She crashed to the ground and then bolted out past my feet leaving me standing in my pajamas in the cold gray light of dawn wondering:
"What the #%@^ just happened?"
Yesterday I sat in my living room for a good three hours trying to figure out why The Funny Farm has to be so spastic. I am quite vexed at this point. Were I a business-minded man of vision, I would have written The Funny Farm articles of incorporation to includ a lengthy examination of why limits of spasticity in a corporation are extremely important.
Some of you who work in offices will agree wholeheartedly. In the meantime, take my word of warning. If you own a spastic goat like I do, enter your laundry room with caution.
That's the story of my life...
THEY ARE ALL SPASTIC.
I'm not sure how this happened but it has become in a word frustrating. Avid readers of The Whimsical World might recall how I tried to start a chicken program that collapsed in ruins thanks in part to the antics of several spastic chickens.
I thought I was past the spastic phase of my livestock program when the chickens all dispersed to "other side of the road." Boy was I wrong. As many of you have been reading, I now own a spastic goat. It has already escaped twice and gone over to M.E. "The South Side Slayer" Montgomery's junkyard. Both times it took extreme measures to capture it.
Several days ago I awoke early and went to my laundry shed out back to get some clothes done early. I paid no mind to the fact that the door of the shed was open slightly. This was not a horror movie. I had no reason to stare aghast at the cracked door only to have someone in the audience yell "don't go in there!"
So I went in.
I went in only to discover Willamina the Goat standing near the washer. Before I could put "goat" and "run away" together in my head, Willamina gathered a head of steam and bolted straight for the door. The only problem at this point was that I was standing in the door. Four feet from the door Williamina launched herself with the agility and grace of a Bulgarian trapeze artist and met me at eye level, crashing into my left shoulder and the light switch. She crashed to the ground and then bolted out past my feet leaving me standing in my pajamas in the cold gray light of dawn wondering:
"What the #%@^ just happened?"
Yesterday I sat in my living room for a good three hours trying to figure out why The Funny Farm has to be so spastic. I am quite vexed at this point. Were I a business-minded man of vision, I would have written The Funny Farm articles of incorporation to includ a lengthy examination of why limits of spasticity in a corporation are extremely important.
Some of you who work in offices will agree wholeheartedly. In the meantime, take my word of warning. If you own a spastic goat like I do, enter your laundry room with caution.
That's the story of my life...
posted by Winston A. Hall at 1:41 PM
1 Comments:
Hello Winston,
I found your blog one exceptionally rainy afternoon while clicking on the "updated at..." blogs on the blogger homepage. Out of the assortment I looked at, yours was the only one I read. I found it highly, highly entertaining and I did actually laugh-out-loud. I haven't snorted any sort of beverage out my nose yet, but I'm optimistic.
I've had The Whimsical World open in a window for a couple of days. Today I'm going to have to restart this computer so I bookmarked your blog and it seems kind of rude and possibly a little bit stalker-like to have you bookmarked and not introduce myself.
*smiles*
*offers hand*
"Hi, I'm JMWD and I enjoy reading your blog. I plan on reading for as long as you are writing it, unless there is a drastic decline in the quality of your work. In which case, I make no promises."
*smiles again*
*retracts hand*
Kudos for a great blog and please give my regards to Willamina, whose spirit I admire.
Thanks!
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