I don’t expect this to make sense to you right now, but the information I’m about to give you will make sense come the end of the story that follows. In some juvenile circles, and made famous by a movie or two, there’s a game called ‘Goat’ – it’s basically a penis-pranking game amongst male friends where you lure an unsuspecting mate into looking at your junk without expecting it and then ridicule them for being a pervert.
Continue . . .
So, Grand Plaza is a major shopping centre in Browns Plains, south of Brisbane. And occasionally when I’m home we slip down to do some shopping for essentials like beer, wine, steak and beer. And to just have a gander at who’s who in the zoo. You never know who you might spot there – maybe a performance from whoever came ninth on Australian Idol in 2009. The joint is like that scene from the bar in Star Wars – creatures of all shapes and sizes, great and small. And plenty of Ed Hardy. It’s out there!
Anyhow, after snagging a shake from Wendy’s, a few cinnamon doughnuts fresh off the conveyor belt, we took off home for an afternoon of carb loading.
We were driving behind a beat-up old yellow van and the standard jokes came to mind: ‘If the van’s a rockin’, don’t come a knockin’; ‘Never trust a van with no windows’; and ‘If you see something, say something.’
And sure enough, no sooner had the van pulled up at the lights than the rear door burst open and out the back launched a tied body! Holy shit! On second look, we thought it was a dog and then on third look realised it was in fact a goat. Phew. But the poor bastard was tied around the neck and only his back legs touched the road.
NOW, ME AND THE OLD MAN LIKE HUNTING, BUT WE’RE NOT ONES FOR ANIMAL CRUELTY.
Now, me and the old man like hunting, but we’re not ones for animal cruelty.
So, just as the light turned green, the old man threw the car into park, jumped out, sprinted and started belting on the van’s driver-side window.
The bloke driving was understandably shit-scared. He’d be forgiven for thinking Dad was a homeless man attempting to wash his windscreen with nothing more than a mouthful of spit and his singlet. And in a deep Middle Eastern accent he says: ‘What you want?’
Well, Dad, cool as a cucumber, just says: ‘Mate, I think your goat fell out!’
Time stood still as I realised what I had just witnessed. Lucky for Dad, the driver didn’t call him out for being a pervert.
The goat was saved. And it still brings a smile to my dial when I think of Dad telling a bloke his twig and berries had fallen out.