Hey Bookworms! I have a personal question for you. I hope you don’t mind it; I just feel like we’ve grown so close over the last few months. It’s just, (anxious sigh), who’s your favorite Goat Man? You don’t have one? Why, good heavens. There are three separate Goat Men roaming around the U. S. of A. Why don’t y’all just sit back and relax while I tell you the story of the Beltsville, MD Goat Man. He’s my favorite. Heck, I think he’s the greatest of all time.
Our tale begins at the Beltsville Agricultural Research Facility in 1971. It was a pretty groovy time, but Dr. Fletcher was not the least bit groovy. He was L7, baby. A total square. He was also crazier than a goldarned box of pet rocks. You would think the BARF, (OMG, you guys! I just realized that spells barf), would be worried about things like creating healthier plants or seeds or what have you. You know, agricultural stuff, and maybe most of them were but Doc Fletcher was working to create a super soldier. He was doing genetic experiments to combine the best traits of humans and the most aggressive traits of mountain goats. Ewe and I both know this was not a good idea but once a mad scientist sets their mind on something they just won’t baaaaack down.
One night, I imagine it was dark and stormy, Doc Fletcher made the breakthrough he was waiting for. His serum was ready to go but he needed someone to test it on. He was smart enough not to inject himself with it but not smart enough to realize that playing god never works out for the mad science set. Fletcher snuck up behind his lab assistant, conked him on the caboggin, and shot him up with goat juice. It was no Steve Rogers turning into Captain America situation. There was all sorts of chaos for a while. After a couple of hours the change was complete. The former lab assistant was covered in coarse black fur, his leg muscles had thickened, his shoulders had broadened, and he had a nifty set of ram horns. Not baaaaad.
He. Was. Pissed. He grabbed old Doc Fletcher and twisted his head clean off. Then he got distracted by a discarded aluminum can and chewed on that for a minute. Finally, he tore through the halls of BARF (ha!) and into the surrounding forest. I mean, what else was the guy gonna do? It’s not like he could go back to his apartment. On the bright side, he no longer had to worry about paying off his student loans.
Goaty just wanted to be alone and live a peaceful life in the forest. He found himself a hatchet and started carrying it around because it made him look cool. Sometimes he used it to gank a gawker. Once people heard that a dude got turned into a goat and that very hatchet hauling goat guy was roaming around they went wild with curiosity. They just wanted to get a peek at him and maybe ask if he would be willing to do some whimsical yoga stuff with them. He was not down and he did not treat them with kid gloves.
After that, the only ones who were foolish enough to anger a murderous man beast were the youths. They weren’t afraid of no goats! They needed a place to make out and drink beer and they weren’t giving up their spot in the woods on account of probable murder. So he ax murdered some and he chased some. You gotta keep teens on their toes. I can’t really blame Goaty for being maaaaaaad. If there was a gaggle of drunken hooligans in my front yard every time I turned around I’d be pretty gruff too.
In the 90’s he needed a vacay so he starting hanging out under Cry Baby Bridge because he was a huge Red Hot Chili Peppers fan and it just spoke to him. He was starting to get carpal tunnel in his ax wacking hand and he needed to find a place to just chill and center his thoughts. Maybe do some journaling. Goaty always goes back to the forest though. He not the hero the forest deserves but he is the one that they need. Besides, there’s all kinds of cool things to climb on and murdering horny teens is a blast. Goaty could never give that up. Goats just wanna have fun, after all. Stay outta the woods Bookworms. I’ll see you next week!