My ode to the two goats I saw screwing in the cornfield when I was twelve.

Though, at the time, you did not know that I was searching for love, you still provided me with all of the love and tenderness my parents had never shown me.

I longed for that talk about the birds and the bees, yet it never came.

How could you have known that I secretly longed to learn about the tenderness that a man and a woman can show each other?

You couldn't have. You were two goats screwing in a cornfield when I was twelve.

Had I been a little older, I might have understood the intricacies of making love. I might have understood that you were not trying to kill the other goat with that large and furry pipe.

But I couldn't. I was twelve, and you were only two goats screwing in a cornfield.

So I tried to force myself upon you, and wrestle you away from the she-goat.

How was I to know that Farmer MacPherson was recording the event for whatever dark purpose? How was I to know that he was being watched by the FBI for recording goat mischief and distributing it to the people of Egypt for the purposes of gambling?

I couldn't, I was only twelve, and you were only two goats screwing in a cornfield for the pleasure of bored Egyptians and Old Man MacPherson.

This is my ode to you. You, who helped me blossom into a man.

I salute you.

Man I wish I had your job. Seems you have very little to do there...


Shoot....no Emoticon for Post Whoring....