CUBS AND A GOAT

This blogger is NOT ecstatic over the World Series results. Instead, please understand my near-total apathy. No, I did not know about the goat curse before -- this World Series has expanded my knowledge-set by at least that much -- but that datum does not enrich me, and it is doubtful that I'll ever have to interject details about Billy Sianis, the Billy Goat Tavern, and his pet goat Murphy, into any conversation.

THE GOAT STINKS!

Personally, I have never found goats to have much of an objectionable odour, but apparently the male goat does have a distinct and problematic whiff, which is another thing that heretofore I did not know.
This is a marginally more useful bit of information.
They're rather like Scotsmen.
My total exposure to goats has been petting zoos and the occasional hippie commune, besides cute internet videos.

Bar owners are a peculiar lot, so it isn't surprising that one of them kept a pet male goat around him. It must have enriched his life.

Some bar owners are antisocial alcoholics.
Goats are very therapeutic.


I am not interested in baseball. But I like goats.

I did not watch any part of the game.

None of the games.

Meh.




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