I thought about callin' Ken the minute I laid eyes on the blue goat that entered our lives that day. And why shouldn't I have? It was a good enough reason. Others have called Ken for less. But I thought I could work it out myself, or at least with Bob's help.But I tell ya, if I WOULD have called Ken I' a told him, I'd a said Your Eminence, sir, we have a situation here at the compound. Bob done brung home a pre-colored goat module, prime quality, but he has an aversion to the dry. Want's Taco Bell alla time. Even Wendy's. It's a problem, Your Enlightedness, onnacounta he just doesn't fit in with the other units. Frickin' goat has a 'tude, sir. That's what I woulda told Ken, but instead i tried to work it out the old fashioned way: with Goat Logic. Bob was no help. He got into some bad acid from the Santa Rosita compound and has been bad-trippin' for a week now. Fact is, I'm gonna call Ken anyway. Wait! Naaaango heard me! Nooooooooooo Phfrankie, I can hear him call, Nooooooooooooo!
Thursday
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at
12:30 AM
4 comments:
Goats are inherently affraid of Ken. It stems from the incident of 1976, I think there was a moomoo involved; and some jewlery.
Italian Pink, that's all I can tell you!
So that's what you called her, Ken. Italian Pink. Was she an Alpina or a Bionda dell'Adamello, or maybe a Verzaschese. I bet you didn't even bother to ask. You sir are a goat rogue.
http://eng.agraria.org/goat/bionda.jpg
Ken with his "Italian Pink"
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