The Battle of GOAT Hill
Imapus Sylicker, Esq.
Lightning cracked the jagged peaks. There was a terrifying thunderstorm in dat dem thar hills as the sun rose above the quiet town of Ross Amy. The town underdog got out of bed & headed for the Saloon for his daily dose of watered down whisky & verbal abuse from the Evil bartender & his posse of mentally-challenged underlings.
Every day the scene repeated itself. How long had this been going on? Years? Decades? Noone could remember. The town had an officially appointed historian, but whenever an issue had to be settled, not a single resident bothered to search through the millions of pages in the official archives. Instead, they just pulled facts out of their asses & promptly forgot & denied anything that would not suit their own side of the story.
As the underdog entered the Saloon, the usual band of villains was getting ready for another day of abusing anyone who crossed their path. Some of villagers loved this status quo & dreamt of being gang-raped by these evil beings – particularly an Australian bloke & a failed musician from Tennessee – but the large majority of them lived in terror of these miscreants.
But who would they turn to? They were the official representatives of law & order, appointed by a Mayor who, when his "lawmakers" started trouble & he was not within reach of sand to stick his head into, promptly used his own butt.
At his usual place, in the corner of the room, sat a young man working feverishly on a list of the 100 most influential people of the town he built. While unassuming at first, we can quickly surmise that he's the hero of the story, because I just wrote it.
In between writing a few names, The Hero would gaze at the exotic young beauty sitting by the bar, making cross-Atlantic wedding plans with the Evil bartender. The underdog approached the bar & a dirty sock struck him in the face. The blank, thoughtless expressions of the bartender’s pack contorted into grotesque features of abhorrent laughter. Surely, this was the pinnacle of wit!
The oily, slimy laughter of these primates spilled out into the dusty streets, where the few residents that held on to their beloved town shook their heads in disgust at the howls of manic laughter, their shoulders stooping at the futility of it all.
So it had been for as long as anyone could remember.
But this day, things would change.
An unbelievably handsome brown-eyed man, sculpted by the Gods themselves into an imposing, striking figure, rode into town astride a magnificent pure white, extremely high horse. His shapely throat parched from thirst, he headed into the Saloon to get a drink strong enough to dissolve the dust that coated his insides.
He entered the hostile room with a calm, sure stride & politely greeted the denizens of this hall of sins before heading up to the bar. “Whisky”, he ordered, his low, manly voice thick & raspy with the dust of his long trip. The exotic young beauty immediately took notice of the pious, humble stranger & began to pester him. “Lady”, he said, cool as a cucumber “I’m just here to have a drink. Use your charms on someone else. I can tell that your vagina is not very good looking.”
Infuriated by the cheek of this daring fine specimen of manhood, the girl’s insides turned white-hot with rage. She would not be denied. So she began to stalk the herculean stranger around town, until he politely told her to back off. Taking this logical, simple, perfectly reasonable request as a sign to strengthen her advances, things finally came to a halt when the stranger’s patience was depleted.
Even if it went against his nature, he had to resort to verbal abuse, in a desperate attempt to get this woman off his back. How surprised was he that this seemed to turn the woman on beyond belief. Each insult brought her closer to orgasm. Every epithet sent her into uncontrollable throes of deep, animalistic pleasure.
While this circus was going on, the bartender, the child of the devil himself, stepped out into the street & witnessing these amusing shenanigans, became overcome with a fit of ridiculous jealousy & pathetic rage. With the most cowardly of blows, in a clear abuse of his undeserved, ill-gotten powers, he struck the angelic stranger, promptly closing the hilarious discussion.
“Son”, he said, the movement of his jaw sending ripples across his overgrown jowls “this town ain’t big enough for the both of us.”
Yes. This day, things would change.
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Originally Posted by vandeleur
this is a fundamental mistruth, all of us are equally important to this board, some just can't rise above grade school tactics. some feel you must be abrasive and abusive to others in order to feel good. others like to use the board to share love of music, Mr. Roth, drink, food, life. some fools even use it to talk politics 
one even uses it to profess his love for an alleged mouse blowin' stoner in CO.
you get to be the fence 
