The Tale of Haggis the Goat pt 7 of 37.

     Everyone looked at Hippie Guitar Man. He had never spoken a sentence without his usual hippie drawl and prefacing it with "Hey man," yet just now, he had spoken a perfectly normal, almost sophisticated sentence. A perfectly normal, almost sophisticated sentence oozing with mystery, that is.
      "What... What do you mean, he's quite right?" Steve asked. "He can't be right, he's just a lowly paranoid assistant who believes in haggises and drop-bears."
     "Well you see," said Hippie Guitar Man, raising his eyebrow, "As a child, my parents took me with them on their travels. We went all over the world, from the epitomes of wealth and class, such as Paris; Tokyo; Walker County, Alabama; and London; but we also went to the depths of poverty in India and Africa. They were rich, too rich for my blood, so I left when I realized they were all part of the System. But before I realized that their conformity to the status quo was influencing me, they took me to a magical place called 'Scotland.'
     "There, I enjoyed myself. Ate many wonderful delicacies, including... haggis. At first I didn't believe when they told me about the haggis. They said it was made out of haggis. I assumed it was made out of sheep guts like all their food is. But eventually I agreed to go on a Haggis Hunt with them the next morning.
     "I lay down for the night, dreaming of capturing a wild haggis the next day, when I heard a scream. I ran outside looking for the source of the yell, and what I saw shocked me. The entire village was in flames; people were running, terrified, into the forest. 'IT'S THE GREAT HAGGIS!' a large man yelled at me as he ran past, the hair on his head singed.
      Suddenly, I saw the beast. Black as night, towering in the air, it turned its head to me, its eyes glowed red with malice as it glared at me."
     Hippie Guitar Man shuddered. "After that, I don't remember what happened. I- I just blacked out. The next morning I woke up in the hospital in the next town. As soon as I was released, me and my parents flew back to the U.S.
    "Soon after that, my eyes were opened to The System, and I began to fight it. But I couldn't fight it with my parents' money. It was a battle I had to fight alone. So I took to the streets, sleeping on park benches, anywhere I could. But whenever I went to sleep, I could never forget... the haggis. I would dream about it every night.
     "Eventually I picked up the guitar. From the first moment I saw it, I felt a special connection to it. Ever since I got it, the nightmares went away."
     They stared in awe at Hippie Guitar Man. "I had no idea." said The Ridiculously White Man with the Handlebar mustache.
      Staven patted Hippie Guitar Man on the back. "I know that feel, bro. I know that feel. We're going to find this haggis... and bring it down."
     Hippie Guitar Man put a carrot in his nose and smiled. "Let's riggidy roll."

The Tale of Haggis the Goat pt. 6 of 37

Staven and Steve looked at each other. Staven smirked and said "And who are these HOODELUMS? Hmm? And also, why is that guy stuffing whole-wheat all natural organic baby carrots in his nose? Seriously, what is the deal with him?"
      Hippie man pulled the carrot out of his nose. "Hey man- You're really messing up the vibe in here. You know what you're doing? Messing up the vibe in here, that's what."
    Staven looked at Hippie man in an awkward silence. The entire group stood and looked at the ground, awkwardly clearing their throats and shuffling their feet. Staven looked up. "So, you guys recording here today? That's cool, that's cool."
    "Yessir! We sure are," said The Extremely White Man with the Handlebar Mustache.
"Baaaaaaa," Haggis agreed.
     "Even though I work here at Addicted to Pants Recording Studio, music isn't really my interest. My main interest is, well... No, you wouldn't understand. No one does." Staven looked away, dejected.
      "Baaaaahh!" Haggis said, which means, essentially, "Please tell us! I am *quite* understanding, I'll have you know."
     Staven sighed. "Fine. I'll tell you... My lifelong goal is to find... A haggis."
     The rest of the group pointed at Haggis, including Hippie Guitar Man who was once again sticking carrots in his nose. "This is a Haggis," they said.
    "No, no, I knew you wouldn't understand! I mean a REAL haggis..."
    Extremely White Man with the Handlebar Mustache exclaimed "You'll be hard pressed to find a Haggis as real as this Haggis!" Hippie Guitar Man nodded. "Yeah man, totally all natural and organic."
    Staven backed up and shook his hands defensively. "No, you misunderstand me. This is what I mean by a REAL haggis... http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wild_haggis."
    The others stared at him in awe. "What-- What's that?" someone said as they watched Staven procure the link to Wikipedia. "I... I don't know," said another.
      "Go ahead, click it." Staven encouraged.
Haggis clicked the link. The rest followed suit and read the short article on the Wild Haggis.
      "Ah," said Steve. "That makes this whole thing much clearer. However, they don't exist."
"Oh, but they DO!" Staven said energetically. "I've seen one, seen it with my own two eyes. Clear as day."
       Hippie Guitar Man pulled off his sunglasses, took the carrots out of his nose, and looked each one of them in the eye, all at the same time. "Gentlemen... I'm afraid you'll find Staven here... To be quite right. Quite right... indeed."

The Tale of Haggis the Goat returns! Part 5 of 37.

When we last left off, Haggis the Goat, The Man With the Handlebar mustache, and Hippie Guitar man were following Recording Studio Owner Who Had Been Watching The Goings On From a Distance Man to his recording studio.
"My!" exclaimed The Man with the Handlebar Mustache, "A real recording studio! I can't believe we've caught such a lucky break!"
"Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!" Haggis agreed.
Hippie Guitar Man didn't say anything. He was too busy clapping his hands and swaying to the music inside his head to do anything but eat a whole-wheat all-natural organic baby carrot.
They finally arrived at the recording studio, called Addicted to Pants, and Recording Studio Owner Who Had Been Watching The Goings On From a Distance Man held open the door for them. The three walked in the building. Hippie Guitar Man put a baby carrot in his ear as thanks.
"Wow!" The Man with the Handlebar Mustache gasped. "It's wonderful in here!"
He looked down at the paisley carpet approvingly, the pastel coloured wall tiles made him grin with glee, and the red and blue striped and polka dotted ceiling tiles caused him to skip around the building happily. He looked at the paintings on the wall. "My! This picture of a landscape with a waterfall is quite gripping! Oh, and what's this one over here?" He asked, walking further down the wall to the next one. "Horses! My oh my! My second favorite animal from the equus genus! Look at them run! See the thunder in those hearts! Feel the rain in those ears!  Feel the passion in those eyes!"
"Alright! First things first," said Recording Studio Owner Who Had Been Watching The Goings On From a Distance Man, "You can call me Steve. Now let's get recording!" Steve, or Recording Studio Owner Who Had Been Watching The Goings On From a Distance Man said.
The went in to the first recording booth. The walls were covered in packing peanuts that had been stapled on to reduce the echo. Steve dragged a microphone out from the corner. "Alright. All we actually could afford at this studio was this one microphone, so it looks like one of you will have to use this potato to record."
"I only use whole-wheat all-natural organic potatoes, man." said Hippie Guitar Man.
"Oh, I assure you it's the most whole-wheat all-natural organic potato around," Steve validated.
So they began to record. The raps were flying free, and the guitar was wild and unchained. The amalgamation of the words and the music created such sweet harmony that the sky itself started crying tears of joy. Or pain. Whatever.
At any rate, by the end of the day, they had an album recorded. Now all that was left was to market and sell it.
The door flew open. A very tall young man dressed in a black suit walked in.
"Staven." Steve greeted Staven.
"Steve." Staven greeted Steve.
Steve turned to back to the group. "Staven is just the assistant here," he explained to them.
Staven smiled evilly. "Not for long..." he muttered under his breath.

   Part 6 coming next week!

Spaghetti, 

Master Chef.

The Tale of the Goat Named Haggis, pt. 4 of 37, or, I won't necessarily do 37 of these.

As Haggis and The Man With The Handlebar Mustache left The Toothpaste Factory, they were both heavily thinking. The thoughts were so heavy, in fact, that they collapsed from exhaustion. "My! How heavy those thoughts were! If all thoughts were as heavy as those, I should never think again, for fear of being squished under their weight!" exclaimed The Man With The Handlebar Mustache. "These thoughts should go on a diet."
     "Baaaaaaaaa!" said Haggis, agreeing with The Man With The Handlebar Mustache.
      Glue.
"I believe we could both use some rest. My feet are beginning noodles." declared The Man With The Handlebar Mustache.
     "Noodles?" A passerby asked.
     "No, I wear socks." explained The Man With The Handlebar Mustache.

     The Man With The Handlebar Mustache and Haggis walked onward. They were heading to The Man With The Handlebar Mustache's apartment. Oftentimes, The Man With The Handlebar Mustache had a hard time finding it, because all apartments in the city look the same. To solve this problem, he had purchased several thousand sheets of paper and Sharpies and had written on them, "This is not my apartment," and taped them to all the apartments, houses, buildings, fire hydrants, policemen, large clouds of arachnophobia, and rented living spaces except his own.
     Since they were in Nashville, they ran into several people playing music on the sidewalk. This was quite an inconvenience for both The Man With The Handlebar Mustache and Haggis, and the street musicians, because The Man With The Handlebar Mustache kept stubbing his toes on them, and the musicians did not like having toes stubbed on them. "Hey man, why are you bringing us down? Quit trippin', man."
     "I can't help tripping, with all you hippies laying on the sidewalk!" angrily exclaimed The Man With The Handlebar Mustache.
     Suddenly Haggis had an idea. One of the people playing music on the sidewalk was playing guitar, and Haggis started rapping. It was a rap like no one had ever heard. Everyone went quiet, except for the one playing guitar.
     After Haggis had finished rapping, there was an astonished silence. A man who had been watching from the distance ran up to the group. "That was incredible! I own a recording studio that is about to go out of business, because we haven't found anyone good enough to make records people really want to buy. But with an act like you, we'll be the biggest studio in America! I need you to come to my studio immediately!" An excited murmur ran through the crowd who had gathered around the miraculous rapping goat. "Rapper goat, Hippie Guitar Man! Come with me!" said Recording Studio Owner Who Had Been Watching The Goings On From a Distance Man, as he skipped along, ecstatic over his new discovery.

THIS EXCITING EPIC CONTINUED FRIDAY!

The tale of the Goat Named Haggis, pt. 3 of 37, or, The Smile Was Fake, But The Tears Were Real.

When we last left off, Haggis and the man with the handlebar mustache were on their way to the toothpaste factory. 

    "Here we are at the Toothpaste Factory!" said the extremely white man with the handlebar mustache. The goat replied "Baaaaaaaaa," which probably meant "I need to say something here to alert the readers to my presence, in case they haven't read the first two parts, which they need to do before they read this."

    The Man with the Handlebar Mustache and Haggis walked through the doors of the Toothpaste Factory, which were made out of giant tubes of Toothpaste. A man dressed as a giant tube of toothpaste greeted them with a giant, almost maniacal smile. "Howdy! Welcome to the Toothpaste Factory! Where all your wildest dreams come true!"

    He continued smiling his plastic smile, but you could see when you looked in his eyes his crushed spirit and broken dreams. "How can we help you?" He said. "Hi there! I'm here for a job interview," said The Man with the Handlebar Mustache.

    The toothpaste man continued to smile his fake smile. "Right this way!" He said, pointing the way. 

    The White Man with the Handlebar Mustache and Haggis went the way he was pointing. They passed several people at desks smiling the same plastic smile with empty, cruel eyes. "Baaaaaah!!!" screamed Haggis, which meant something like "My, how this situation is becoming creepy!" "My, how this situation is becoming creepy," said the Man with the Handlebar Mustache, commenting on how the situation was becoming creepy. 

    They eventually made their way to a door with a giant sign above it that said "Interview Room." Haggis nervously looked back down the hallway, reading the signs hung on the wall that said things like "The Toothpaste Factory, where all your wildest dreams come true!" and "The Toothpaste Factory: No spirits broken here!" and "The Toothpaste Factory: All toasters toast toast!"

    The Man with the Handlebar Mustache opened the door to the interview room. There were two chairs, a coffee table with two issues of Highlights for kids from the 80s, a large imposing desk, and a dimly lit chair ominously facing away. The chair spun around, but it was to dark to see the face. The door slammed behind the duo, trapping them in the same room as chair-spinning-dimly-lit-face man. He leaned forward slowly into the light. As the man was leaning forward, both The Man with the Handlebar Mustache and Haggis gasped. "A BABY!?" They yelled.

    "What? No. I don't even..." said the large bald man chewing a toothbrush. "My name is Larylyn."

    "Oh. For a second a thought you might have been Baby. lol." said The Man with the Handlebar Mustache.

    "So you're here for an interview. What are your skills?"

    "Well, when I was just an infant, I was lost in this very building and I learned all the ins and outs of The Toothpaste Factory. My expertise is in toothpaste cap quality management though."

    "Interesting." said Larylyn. "You got the job. But beware, this is a high risk job. You have one shot at this. We can't afford a mistake at that level. Also, why do you have a goat?"

     "Why do you have a FACE?" said The Man with the Handlebar Mustache.

     "I was born this way. Oooo, There ain't no other way. Or whatever. Anyway, leave, and then come back tomorrow at the times for your job."

     The duo of The Man with the Handlebar Mustache and Haggis left the interview room, passing all the cruel, empty eyes. They passed the toothpaste doorman, who's plastic smile was as plastic as ever, but his eyes told of his crushed hope. "Have a fantastic day!" said the toothpaste doorman, whose cheery voice belied his broken dreams. He shut the toothpaste doors behind them as they left the building, a single tear sliding down his smiling face. 

THIS EXCITING EPIC CONTINUED NEXT WEEK!                                                    

              

The Tale of the Goat Named Haggis, pt. 2 of 37

When we left off last time, Haggis had escaped from Slipknot, and he realized he could  become a rapper. He travelled the country far and wide, near and thin, in search of someone who appreciated his rapping skill. But he found no one. One day, he went to Nashville. He saw a man with a handle bar mustache. "That extremely white man with a handle bar mustache looks like he would appreciate my rapping talents!" he said. So haggis went up to him and rapped his best rap, he was letting loose impeccable rhyming with impeccable timing, and the man stared, amazed. "This is one white man with a handlebar mustache that appreciates your rapping talents! But alas, I must be on my way. I have an important interview at the toothpaste cap factory. I'm afraid it won't go very well, for you see, i am not very verbose. If only I was an eloquent speaker as you, sir goat!" The goat agreed that this indeed was a misfortune. But then a thought came to him: perhaps if he could be the man's spokesgoat, he could be useful to the man, and perhaps the man could pay him back with toothpaste caps. When Haggis thought of this, he said to the man "Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!" which means "perhaps I could be your spokesgoat, i could be useful to you, and you could pay me back with toothpaste caps!" The man thought this was a wonderful idea. "I think this is a wonderful idea!" the white man with a handlebar mustache said, thinking that this was a wonderful idea. So they made their way to the toothpaste factory.

THE EXCITING EPIC CONTINUES NEXT WEEK!