There’s a lot of harmful propaganda floating around out there regarding my performance in the Dairy Day Goat Milking Contest Saturday.
It’s true, contrary to my claims in a previous blog, I did not yield a single drop of milk from my goat (who I found out later is named “Sahara”).
Not because of I am a lousy milksmith. Rather, I failed because I trust people – people I thought were my friends.
How do I know I was betrayed? Because the technique was there. The pick-up lines and soft music were there. The will to win was there. The only thing that wasn’t there was a working tit on the left side of that goat’s udder.
Oh yeah, “old faithful” gave it up for Mayor Joe Maiurano the turn after mine – once Dairy Day organizer Janet Pfromm made a “special” adjustment for him (she removed, upon further review of surveillance tape from a security camera, what appeared to be a small rubber plug from the goat’s udder).
I was too predictable. They knew I would volunteer to go first to spare everyone else the heartbreak of loss. I never had a chance.
Betrayed, humiliated, angered and frustrated, I said nothing as the boo’s from the crowd of thousands rained down.
“A kindergartner could do better than that you bozo,” one man said. “You’ll never milk in this town again you bum,” said another. “You made my granddaughter cry you worthless hack,” a woman said as she slapped me across the face.
I took it like a man though, because no one wants to hear excuses. And I ain’t giving any. I screwed up. I lost.
All I want is another shot, a fair shot. If I lose, I’ll live in exile and never challenge the goat milking kingdom again. If I win, I will take the throne that is rightfully mine. All conspirators will be forgiven (mercy they most definitely would not show me) and together we will enter the golden age of this empire under my rule.