...on throwing the goat

...or on throwing UP the goat. no.seriously, i did.

"you know, the steak last night gave me strange dreams", said left hand rob

"me too", the bastard replies

"yeah"

"totally, i had this dream that something was trying to crawl out of my stomach"

"yeah and when he woke up, he found that something did", retorts jonny airplanes

"seriously?"

"yeah, i feel like i'm dying. i wish it was a hangover, i'd know when it would end."

i think that something didn't agree with the bastard's dinner the other night. i was racked. totally racked out yesterday and it never stopped. no sleep. more throwing up. all the while trying to function. i'm very fortunate that chicago jerkface was there to pick up the torch. even the publisher heard that i had food poisoning. this morning risen from the dead, the bastard is full of caffeine and ready to go.

...on more goats

surprisingly enough the bastard is coming up thin on mullets so we're going to have to start off with our freshely slimmed down old man of the mountains. i've highlighted his very european look insomuch as he is rocking the sandals with socks AND a poker visor. what do ya want? i'll be on the floor soon and hunting for mullets

—the bastard