GOAT HERDING CLUB - enter

Theoryofrelativity

05-07-06, 02:05 PM

There was a little club of goatherders
where posters came to play
and every where the goatherders went
the posters went that way

Some posters wanted to join that club
but due to lack of 'cool'
had to stick with dull avatars
and looking quite the fool

but keep on following the goat herders
and try to be seen
You may just get your own little goat
but remember to keep it clean

clean, fed and watered
a nice soft bed at night
remember to kick the missus out though
or the goat may take a fright

Spring again is in the air,
Lambs are frisking here and there,
All blissfully unaware,
Of how short their lives are to be.

So with you, I'd like to share,
My feelings, which aren't so rare,
(And I think you all will care)'
Of all that sheep mean to me.

As I'm sure you will agree,
What Greater love can there be,
Than love for a sheep roaming free,
On bleak moorlands, so lonely?

Vicars while they sip their tea,
Say that it is sodomy,
But in order to disagree,
I took out my dictionary,
And looked up the word.

"Unnatural connection," it did say,
But what, than in the hay,
With a fleecy sheep to lay,
More natural could there be?

Surely it is crystal clear,
That the sheep and the mountaineer,
Although sheep don't drink much beer,
Are very similar as you'll see.

Both have coats of fleecy hair,
And underneath, both are bare,
(i.e. naked), but to be fair,
Climbers, their coats don't have to wear.

Sheep, often off cliffs so high,
Fall and than horribly die,
'Cos unlike birds, cannot fly,
Even though, they may try.

For climbers on the other hand,
Falling off is never planned,
But happens when they try to stand,
On a non-existent ledge, and,
Their arms suddenly give way.

So at last in summary,
What more normal could there be,
Than to take indecently,
From behind, darling flossy,
Or others so dear to me,
Of her kind so wooly,
And mounted thus in ecstacy,
Copulate eternally?

I feel talent pouring though our veins,
how about a sheep with wine
and a goat boiling in our soup;
it's our world and we're its' saints:
Animal love.

Animal love and death,
we're the beginning and the end,
let's end this parade of ants
and create the ultimate godess of night
and love, and hate, and deadly tasty wine.

She will arise from the ashes of sacriface,
and will end our lives -
no place in the world of her thousand starlight eyes,
our lives are ash, animal ash.

yep