Attack of the Goats

Mountain Goats at Robin Lake, Washington, July 2006 photo by Matt Grover

Mountain Goats & Trace Minerals

A Group News Blog Exclusive

My friend Matt told me a story too good to keep to myself, so I asked his permission to share it with you. It makes sense of what everyone now knows about Mickey Kaus: as told by Matthew Yglesias, Sadly, No!, even Wonkette.

Here, as best I can figure, is how it all started, how Micky came to blow goats

Seems summer a year ago my friend Matt was hiking in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness up around Robin Lakes smack in the middle of our enormous Cascade Mountain Range, when he stopped to "take a natural break" (fifth paragraph down in the TDF article; more here, also the fifth para.)

Again this is all on point to Mickey Kaus and his known penchant for blowing goats. I know some of you have been questioning it, thinking it's nothing more than a cruel joke by a bunch of liberal bloggers trying to make fun of someone who pissed us off.

"But where's your proof?", you cry. "Surely you can't expect Mickey to DENY he blows goats! Why... that would just keep the story alive another news cycle." Well, gol-lee, I guess it would at that.

But that's not my point. My point is this.

Here is the Great State of Washington, where Men are Men and the Women are Feminists but still really smart and beautiful and nice, and willing to let us be gentleman and open the door for them out of the rain, you may have noticed (or heard anyway) that it rains a lot. We Washingtonians don't mind the rain and the fact we can't see the sun for eight months, at least not after our first two years living here. Because we've either killed ourselves, gone mad, or moved back to California.

We just walk around in the rain and wear lots of wool and clothing from REI. In fact, because Washingtonian men are much more massively endowed then men from other lessor states or expatriates -- this is a well known fact -- we tend to wear our REI wool shirts even in the summer, as if we are expecting it to rain, just in order to let the tails hang out over our wool or polypropylene fleece pants, hiding our massive endowments so as not to embarrass our out-of-state friends thus hiding our obvious physical prowess. Works like a charm.

Except when we go hiking. Up high in the beautiful mountains of Washington, and the lakes with the Mountain Goats.

Which near as I can figure, is what did in poor Micky Kaus.

Seriously.

I mean, we're real men and real ladies, here in Washington State. I'm not saying you're wimps in, just picking random examples, New York City and Tokyo, but here in the state where it rains from October to June, we face down mountain lions with a shoe string and a match. Fend off hypothermia with a quarter-stick of jerky, a bush and some old leaves. Save our wives stranded in a car in five feet of snow for weeks with no food and half a tank of gas. All the while surrounded by active volcanoes.

And we have Mountain Goats.

Johnson-loving, crotch-sniffing, penis-grabbing, dick-diving, wang-whacking, schlong-snatching, willy-waggling, dong-desecrating, boner-biting, prick-pecker-punishing, weiner-wrangling, knob-polishing, rod-licking, shlong-sucking, member-munching, phallus-fellating, Mountain Goats. Horny Mountain Goats. The second you whip it out, baby, that big, monster johnson you normally have to keep tied off around your waist? An entire herd of those scary goats puts their horns down, aims them directly at your pecker, and charges directly at your (now terrified and shrinking) just like a penis but smaller.

As Matt explained, "They want the salt. The goats have figured out, when ever you go up onto the rocks by yourself, you're going to pee. There is salt in your urine, and the goats need salt to survive. Also, the goats aren't afraid of you at all."

He went on. "Do you have ANY idea how hard it is to pee when you have fifteen mountain goats this close to you, with their sharp, sharp horns, taking swipe after swipe at your manhood as they go, 'baaaaaa, baaaaaa?'"

So there's proof, all you doubters. Actual documented mountain goats who go after the dick. And from there it's just a quick reverse and a hike in the mountains anywhere they have mountain goats to...

Poor Micky. Can't say I really blame him.

All alone, up in the mountains, surrounded by horny goats threatening him every time he tried to pee.

After a while I bet he figured it out:

There's only one thing goats like better than salt!