Naaaango and Bob dropped the Microbus off in Petaluma and got in the GTO. Naaaango thought it was funny that Bob called his car a goat. From Petaluma they wandered through Marin County 'till they got to the coast. Two miles south they turned on to the road that led to the compound. Dude! Naaaango said, all of a sudden. This looks just like the area where I grew up! Slow down, Bob! Seriously, slow. the. fuck. down! Sweet weepin' Jesus! Where's the fire? Dude! Bob was in such a hurry to get his goat with the blue goat to the compound that he was driving like a crazed lunatic, which was distressing the four-legged passenger to the point of hysteria. Bob finally slammed on the brakes as they entered the compound. What he (Bob) didn't tell him (Naaaango) was that the compound was a secret society of ex wierdos that specialized in goat manipulative genetic wacky stuff, including the de-colorization and re-colorization of, well......goats. Of which Naaaango was most definetily one. Thereof. Goat. But I smelled a rat...