The Lord Goat

there was a man who had a goat. this goat was like any oth­er goat. it could eat tin cans and do com­plex al­go­rithms with lit­tle or no pa­per­work. one day, while the goat was walk­ing around in cir­cles, the man chucked a piece of poly­eth­yl­ene gly­col at it — there­by piss­ing the goat off. the goat pro­ceed­ed to cal­cu­late the pre­cise ve­loc­i­ty and tra­jec­to­ry re­quired to kill the man, and prompt­ly did so with the high­ly ef­fec­tive use of a bro­ken axe han­dle. up­on col­lect­ing the in­sur­ance from the de­ceased, the goat used the monies and chat­tels in­her­it­ed thus to sub­si­dize the liq­uefi­ca­tion of tin cans in­to liq­uid tin. this liq­uid tin was then poured in­to a vat that mea­sured five cu­bits by ten fath­oms and left to dry overnight. when the morn­ing of the third day be­gan the lord goat arose rather lat­er than usu­al, scratched him­self vig­or­ous­ly and ex­it­ed his lu­nar bunker and/​or ewe-harem. and lo, when the lord goat looked up­on his hand­i­work and saw the per­fec­tion that it was he spake say­ing ‘Behold what I hath made in mine own de­sire — a craft work of amaze and agape. It shall be called Croûton as a sign of my covenant with thee. and ye shall wor­ship it and pro­vide it with ten she-goats and ten ewes dai­ly, else thy will be smote up­on by bro­ken axe han­dles and brim­stone. yea ver­i­ly i saw this un­to thee that any of ye whoso for­sakes his tithe shall be smote up­on for be­ing rather lewd.’ thus did the world en­ter in­to the Age of the Goat. at least un­til three o’clock that af­ter­noon when a small child named Gumbo threw a bro­ken axe han­dle at the lord goat, smit­ing him vig­or­ous­ly even un­to un­con­scious­ness. im­me­di­ate­ly there­after the peo­ple made a sac­ri­fice of the lord goat in their ig­no­rance, and had some re­al­ly yum­my goat cur­ry.