For My Readers Who Don't Read This


From The Blogfather Gazette. This is quality reading folks. Whatever you are consuming Phfrankie, please keep doing it. 

Scene 1, Act 1

Why did Bob bring the goat home? Nobody knows, or at least they aren't saying. All I know is one day, early June it was, of last year,Bob comes rollin' in to the compound and unloads a goat from his GTO and says Phfrankie! Come on look at my new goat! Why he picked me out of the group can only be pondered on. Did I like goats more than everyone else? No. WTF??A friggin' goat! And not a regular goat, either. It was a blue goat. Yeah....blue. Not your sky blue...or your Wedgwood blue...no, the goat was a vibrant, shimmering, deep, electric, the-Pope's-underpants-blue. Dude! I said, Yonder be a swell goat! But git it the hell outta here! Are you outta yer friggin' mind?? But Bob he just unloads the goat and brings it right into the living room and commences to bring it some chow. Got any more o' that tuna casserole?, Bob asks me. Lucy ate it, I says. 

Sundown came to the compound and there I am stuck with a vibrant, shimmering blue goat. Bob said Lucy shouldn't of oughta ate the tuna casserole, because Lucy should be eating the DRY, but he got over it and the goat got some chow and Bob had a beer or two and it SEEMED like everything was settling down to normal, for having a blue goat on the couch. I say "seemed" because as soon as Bob went to his cabin, the goat looked at me and said, plain as day, as if he was speaking to the Commonwealth Club, he says Pssst...Phfrank...my name is Naaango and if I don't get back to my peeps, chop-chop, there's gonna be trouble. What kind of trouble, I ask. Well, he says, in all seriousness, the gang will come looking for me, with their croquet mallets, and all hell's gonna break loose. These guys are NOT NICE, Naaango says. They are from a lost tribe of The Blues and they're gonna want to thump the shit outta Bob, and probably you too. Git me outta here, Phfrankie! I'll call Ken, I says. Nooooooooooo Phfrankie, noooooooo! Not Ken! But Naaaango, I says, Ken can help. Noooooooo Phfrankie, Noooooooooo!

I took Naaaango to Donny's for a late night cuppa joe and he let it all out, man, told me the whole story of his wacked-out life. Sometimes he was crying and and sometimes he was mad but mostly he seemed just glad to get it all out. As it turns out, Naaaango had quite a story to tell. He was born in the Marquesas Islands, in a beautiful valley, he says. Life there was golden; immaculate. Every goat had his own grass shack, which he could eat iffin he wanted to, but nobody did onnacounta there was plenty of other better things to eat, instead of a guy's OWN HOUSE. He says he never thought anything of the fact that all the goats on the island were red...it was the only thing he knew so it was rilly strange when a gaggle of blue goats landed on the beach one day and started thumping his bretheren and hauling them into their boats. I ran like a bastard up into the hills, says Naaaango, but they found me and thumped me with their thumping mallets and tied me up and put me on the boat...say, Phfrankie....could ya spring for a couple o' McDoubles...I'm frickin' starving over here. Sure, Naaaango, I says, and while I'm at it I'll call Ken. Nooooooooo Phfrankie, Noooooooooo! he says, so then he continued his story...




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2 comments:

Phfrankie Bondo said...

Naaaango was a red goat when he lived on the island.

Not everybody figured that part out.

Ken said...

Definitely does take some figur'n.

It's good though!