the
From Glam Rock…to Garbo….to Goats
the
HIP QUOTIENT
From Glam Rock…..to Garbo…..to Goats
the
From Glam Rock…to Garbo….
to Goats
You know I’m loath to brag, but I have to let you know that the U.S. Postal Service has chosen ME as the model for their special Goat Heritage Month stamp! Now, get out there and buy some friggin’ stamps and send a card to your mom — even if she’s in the hoosegow for peaceably protesting, or some equally…
Let me not to the breeding of true goatsadmit false excrement.Poop is not poop that alters when it constipation finds.Or bends with the mucker to remove.No, it is an ever-tumbling rain of pelletsThat stick to hooves and shan’t be shaken.It is the dung on every wand'ring bark,Whose worth’s unknown, although its grams be taken.Poop’s no mere stool, that wagging buttsand…
Some have accused me of stealing from Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” when I penned this instant classic. What they don’t realize is that folk tales of fog-pooping are deeply rooted in goat lore of the 18th century. If anything, Frost stole from US!
Blah, blah, blah, say the humans. And baa, baa, baa, say I. Elections my tail! I’ve seen it all, man. Like, I was sitting in Bobby Dylan’s pad on 4th Street one night back in ’65, and he said, “You know, the masters make the rules for the wise men and the fools.” And then that damn optimist Lennon chimes…
"Spike played the floating card game circuit back around ’57. Took on those Chivas-gulping sharpies who sold out and took the Hollywood bait. Guys like Gondorff and the Cincinnati Kid — even that dame Lady Lee. Spike was a shameless cheat. Hell, they all were. But my old pal knew tricks they never dreamed of. I told him once, I…