I’ve worked it out. I am a goat. Yes, it’s my star sign and some might think that foolish for me to believe in, but I am. Goats are tenacious little fuckers. They spend all their lives climbing fucking mountains, never on flat ground. They don’t complain. It’s their life and they just get on with it. My life is fucking Everest. So yes, I am a goat.
Once, when I was a kid, Aunty Anne took me to the Adelaide Zoo. This was back in the days when elephants and giraffes walked around a concrete enclosure, the elephants only joy was to be sprayed down with water every now and again, the giraffes to eat hay out of mangers set high in the air. For some reason, there were goats at the zoo. When I think about it, the enclosure was probably a petting zoo for us kiddy-winks. We were all given paper bags filled with grey pellets to feed to the goats, but when one wasn’t fed fast enough he began eating away at Aunty Anne’s dress. Though she would have called it a frock and it would have been purchased, I’m almost certain, at Joyrene’s ‘Lovely for Ladies’. Goats will eat anything. So will I, actually. Therefore I am a goat.
Goats do not spend half their life traipsing around the difficult and treacherous terrain of a mountain to then go, ‘ah, fuck this, I didn’t sign up for this shit. I’m just gonna hurl myself off that cliff there.’ No. they’re goats and they just keep slogging away because that’s there lot in life and there’s nothing they can do about it. They were born on that mountain and they’ll live on that mountain, thank you very much.
Yes, I’m a goat. But it’s pretty hard to climb the fucking mountain when someone’s just cut your legs off.