display | more...

My name is Bernhardt Goats. I am a frequent guest columnist on this newspaper. If you don't know me and want to be "friend" then you can call me what friends call me which is Behr. It is because I am old, bald, paunchy, and very loveable although I haven't completed a sexual intercourse procedure since 1978. Thank you for caring. 

I am constructing a theme park called Bible and Constitution Theme Park in my neighborhood. Information on my operation can be found in my diary in the newspaper personals, or "daylogs." I chart my magical journey in building this theme park there. Figure it out.

One of the things I discovered while constructing my Book of Ruth ride was that I needed to dig in the ground to plant the poles that supported the climax of the ride (as well as Ruth's story in The Holy Bible) where she is catapulted over the Walls of Jericho to make a point to the enemy. God made that happen. Need I say more? But when I dug in the ground I found evidence of an ancient civilization under the property that formerly belonged the the Hendersons (whose bones are now drying in my yard).

Now, students of that subject taught by Indiana Jones will know that Baltimore was constructed on the ruins of an ancient city built by the Inca. This used to belong to them until Christopher Columbus climbed up on Plymouth Rock and made a speech prior to throwing Betsy Ross over the walls of the British fort to make a point to the enemy. That was an important step in America's independence often forgotten by people. I had found things that belonged to the Incan people. This stuff was worth money and some of the stuff could be used as part of a ride or two at my park. I could increase my wealth tenfold if I played my cards right.

I called my lawyer, who is a real Slick Willie type, and I got in touch with a professor of that subject Indiana Jones teaches from the for profit university where I am a fully tenured professor of ethics. I wanted to get to the bottom of these potentially valuable Incan ruins.

If you have any aspirations to go into that field that Indiana Jones studies or just feel it in your blood sometimes when you see something really old and you get excited in non-sexual ways then you can understand how I was feeling, a man who had not experienced fully realized sexual intercourse since 1978, when he found these Incan ruins.

We had to get a team of excavators in, so I sent my friends Chopper and The Slow Kid to the poor part of town in their stolen school bus to take some "prisoners" to work on the excavation project. Two of them died during the excavation process because I denied them all water or breaks and The Slow Kid kept hitting them in the head with a small novelty baseball bat for no real reason other than he likes doing stuff like that which is his right under the Constitution. It falls under freedom of speech so they had no reason to complain.

This was all fine and dandy and then the excavators found a secret cave like the ones The Hardy Boys used to come across a lot. Chopper shot the excavators in the head, one by one, so that they would not reveal our secret find to anyone. These things have to be treated carefully. No leaks can be allowed. We didn't know what was in that cave. It would turn out to be a fucking nightmare.

I was looking for valuables (what the internet kids call "loot") in the cave but then it got very dark. The torches we had that we didn't remember bringing with us (all of us not just one of us) blew out and we were left blind and at the mercy of the nightmare Incan cave. Holy shit is right my friends (you are now my friend you can call me Behr). We were blind as a bat.

We fumbled around like the Cleveland Browns trying to find the end zone for a while and then we saw a weird light ahead of us. Maybe this was the way out. Had to be or we were going to be someone's lunch. Who knows what kind of creatures lived in a cave that had been closed for a million years. The light was a chance to escape a fate where something that looked like a cross between a tiger and one of those guys you see selling knockoff watches at the pier tears you in half and roasts you over an open flame.

We thought the light would be a way out and a chance to still get to Faidley's before the lunch specials were taken off the menu so we started punching each other in the face trying to subdue one an another so we could be the one to reach the light. And then we heard a snarling voice and The Slow Kid was jerked back off his feet and dragged away very quickly back into the darkest part of the cave. Holy shit is a response you can use in this situation. It refers to the saintly shit you take just as you are about to die. Many people worship it as a god. I met some of them in the beautiful state of Kentucky a couple summers ago.

Chopper and I agreed that The Slow Kid was no big loss and that he was the weak link in our operations anyway. He never contributed anything and he was so slow all the time. Sometimes we'd have to pull my Pontiac over to the side of the road so The Slow Kid could catch his breath. When we went on a trip we always tied The Slow Kid behind the Pontiac and made him keep up or get dragged. There were enough seats in my very roomy Pontiac but I don't like the way he smells and I don't want to stink up my car.

We proceeded towards the light again and stopped fighting because we figured the creature had its dinner (in the form of The Slow Kid) and thus wouldn't be eating again for at least four hours (estimate made by averaging how long a guy selling knockoff watches at the beach and a tiger take between their meals generally speaking). This sentence may be difficult to parse (the last one).

There was an obstacle in the form of a very small fat person who wanted us to watch him do magic tricks.

I will tell you two things at this point about my past that will help you understand the next part of the story. In 1972 I met Richard Nixon's first wife, Yorba Linda who was very exotic. It was at a cocktail party. The second thing is that in 1979 I briefly ownd a racehorse through no fault of my own and had to get rid of it.

The magician in the cave moved very strangely. He was like a cat in heat with the noises and the jerky movements. I was upset even though I am a strong manly American man I am in my eighties and I could die in a cave collapse. What I did was hold back my anger and just watch the fat little magician dance around with all that crazy stuff he was doing with the arms and legs of his body (a gift from God). We waited as he began his show with a flaming hula hoop that he tossed a rabbit into. The rabbit disappeared before reaching the other side. The fatso had a portal to another world in his possession and he was hiding it in plain site while doing poor magic shows for disinterested bystanders. The game was afoot (as Shakespeare used to say in his sleep). 

I was so terrified that I could not have gotten or sustained an erection even if I gorgeous piece of ass walked up to me and said "Do me, Behr friend," and I would have to shake my head sadly and tell her, "Flaccid," and see the look of disapproval. That is the absolute worst thing that can happen to a person and I didn't want it to happen to me.

We were about to enter the Incan underground guided by a spirit warrior who would lead us to riches and glory. The Incans were still around! They had not all been fed, clothed, and treated fairly by the wise Americans who discovered their country for them. Their country is now called Baltimore and they must accept it. That was going to be an important bargain making chip to use in negotiations. It would sway them.

The Incan godfather appeared dressed in feathers and a snake that would tear anyone's digestive system apart if it ever crawled into their anus. He was on a big golden throne and he looked like he was mad about something. Possibly a difficult bowel movement just before we met.

"Your city is now called Baltimore," I told him with a firm voice.

This motherfucker rolled his eyes at me. Can you believe that? He stretched out his arms and made me look at all the profitable stuff they had in the cave. They had slot machines and off-track betting and card games involving money. It looked very profitable. This could be common ground in our negotiations.

"Businessman," I grunted at him while beating my chest. Then I pointed at him and said "businessman" in the same way. He nodded.

At this point we realized we had no idea what happened to Slick Willie and Indiana Jones. Next we realized we didn't care. They were someone's dinner more than likely. There was creatures in the ancient Incan caves it had been proven when The Slow Kid was torn to pieces and devoured by one of them. His bones would be found by future generations as proof at some point in the distant future. That is how Indiana Jones' area of study handles these things and we abide because it is in the Constitution.

This is when the frights begin as this is a story for the horror quest and contains elements of scary.

There was an apparition (a word the internet kids invented that means ghost) in front of us. It was the ghost of my last full erection and it just hung in the air. The Incan king made mocking laughter with his mouth and the others joined as the apparition floated towards me and hovered in front of my face. Holy shit was a thing we thought of in our minds at this time. This was holy shit time.

The appartition disappeared and two very strong women dressed in yellow feathers pulled me up off the floor. Two others did the same with Chopper. We had both absolutely shit our pants because of what we'd seen and it was humiliating when they turned us around so the king could laugh.

"Weaklings!" he laughed in a mocking way (not with us but against us). "Americans are so weak!"

"That is because of liberalism! I am immune to its effects!"

"You seem like girly men."

Chopper spoke in his deep motorcycle gang voice (he is a big player in the local biker gang "White Alphas" and it gives him street cred. Chopper told them, "I will fight any of you."

"Then you will fight Mustanga in the battle pit."

Mustaga was this huge man with dark colored skin wearing a giant buffalo head on top of his taking the place of his or so it seemed. They went to the battle pit and both were thrown in as cheering crowds gathered and I shit my pants again (I am in my eighties). Chopper is scrappy and tricky but this buffalo head person was ten feet tall.

I had the Spirit of St. Louis enter my head at that point. It was delivered like a spear striking the back of my head and bestowing on me the gifts of the Spirit of St. Louis. I now had super powers and there were things I could do. I didn't know what they were and couldn't figure it out. While I was trying to leap high in the air and turn myself invisible I felt the two big women's hands grab me from behind and throw me into the pit.

Now mind you I have had a hairless weasal inside my body for eighty years. It was placed there as part of an experiment conducted at my state run school in Germany in 1939 and 1940 when my father got me in because he was a high ranking official in the German government. They wanted to see what would happen if the hairless weasel was trapped in there for an extended period of time. It has now been in there for a very long time. I am no good with numbers so you do the math I am not a geek you are.

It was at this moment that the Spirit of St. Louis allowed me to propel the hairless weasel (now fully grown and mutated) to squeeze free of my constricting anus and take charge of the ground troops. The brain tinglers became active in a rare daytime appearance by them and I was able to control the hairless weasel (partially) with my mind. I would need to practice this new skill in the future but right now we were in an urgent crisis situation and had to act fast before Mustanga killed Chopper and then me. Chopper is not as dispensible a friend as The Slow Kid because he is basically my bodyguard and considers me a wise old man worth following (as should you).

We did manage to resolve the problem and although The Slow Kid is now dead (the body was found by Indiana Jones who was not eaten after all) it turned out not to be as bad a time as we thought it would be.