Haggis the Goat part 8 of 37

    The rag tag group of heroes (That's 'heroes' with an 'e' by the way, you never spell the plural of 'hero' without an e. It's always 'heroes,' never 'heros.' and it's ESPECIALLY not 'hero's' unless it's belonging to ONE hero. Anyway, back to the story.) made their way to the airplane the next day. The Ridiculously White Man with the Handlebar Mustache, who from now on we'll call Devin (because seriously, 'The Ridiculously White Man with the Handlebar Mustache' is way too much trouble to type every time I want to mention him), spoke to Steve. "Hey. You know how in action movies, the hero always says some witty phrase right before he gets in the plane and dramatically flies away?"
    "Yeah." Steve said. "Why?"
    "Cause we should do that."
    "Why?" Steve responded.
    "It would be pretty cool."
    Just then they reached the stairs to the airplane. They begin walking up to the door, with Hippie Guitar Man in front and Haggis the goat in the back. As Devin passed the door man (yeah, there's a door man.) who was politely holding the door open for them, the door man slipped something to Devin. "It'll come in handy. Trust me." Devin kept walking, and the door man kept politely holding open doors for the rag-tag group of heroes who politely thanked him for politely holding open the door.
     Just then a thought hit Devin. "Ow!" Devin said. "That thought hit me rather hard." Then he examined the thought that had hit him. What the thought was, in fact, was that he had gotten a job at the toothpaste cap factory, and had not shown up for work one single time. Of course, now that Haggis the goat was making best selling hip-hop/rap albums, he didn't need a job. He called up his employer and told him he quit. His former employer yelled at him repeatedly that he was a nitty, and then broke into tears. Devin hung up the phone.
    The door man held open the door for Haggis, who was the last one to come into the plane. Haggis put sunglasses on. "Baaaaaaaaa" he said. He turned, facing the sunset and raised his eyebrow. He took his sunglasses off. "Baababababbbabaaaaa baaa." (for those who don't speak goat, he was saying a melodramatic and somewhat witty phrase before they flew off into the sunset.) They flew off into the sunset.
                                    DAYS LATER

Devin stepped onto the green grass, his polyester pants swishing each time he took a step. He rubbed his chin and turned around to face the rest of the team. "Well, men. I have no idea what I am doing. So I'm going to go ahead and turn the lead over to Hippie Guitar Man."
    Hippie Guitar Man stepped forward. "Gentlemen, I have only one thing to say. BOB, YOU ARE SUCH A NITTY! Now let's catch a haggis."

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."

Kony 2012.

In the last few days, a video entitled Kony 2012 has gone viral. Long story short, there is a man by the name of Joseph Kony who runs the Lord's Resistance Army (LRA) who kidnaps children and forces them to mutilate and murder other people. In watching the video, I was inspired by its message. People of all races, from all over the country, and even over the world fighting to end Kony. People coming together to fight, not for their own benefit, but for the benefit of others, for the helpless. I felt a sense of community, a bond among those with a common goal. It was inspiring to see people who cared about something worthwhile and being proactive about it.
 But then I had a thought. What if Christians had the same enthusiasm for spreading the Gospel as they do spreading the Kony 2012 campaign? What if we were as passionate about stopping Satan as much as we are passionate about stopping Kony? What if when we woke up in the morning, we decided we would tell someone about the Bible or invite them to Church? But unlike Kony 2012, most people won't agree with you, most people won't care, and some people may even get angry with you. It's not easy. And you may get discouraged. But if you don't try to help people, no one will be helped. And what's more important? Feeling a little uncomfortable because you don't want somebody to think you're different, or helping someone to salvation?
Everyone may not be able to help spread the gospel in the same way. Some people may be terrified of talking to people in real life, but are quite vocal online. Use that to your advantage. Send out Bible verses, set up classes and arrange for speakers to come teach at them.
Some people may not know how to use a computer, but may have good speaking abilities. Use those to talk to people and study with them.
Everyone has a different strong suit, so figure out what yours is and use it to the best of your abilities.
Even if you don't think you're knowledgeable enough about the Bible to teach somebody, you can still arrange a Bible study with people who are.
The point of Kony 2012 is to spread awareness of him by showing people we care, and how much we care. Let's show the World how much we care about doing what's right.

SF Gavin Richardson.

today's drawing.

The tale of why I've not been writing any posts lately, or, No it's not because I'm lazy.

     So some of you may have Noticed I haven't written any posts for a while, breaking my new year's resolution of writing one Every week. There is a good reason for this however. And in this post, I'll be recounting the reasons why.
     It all started on January 23th, 2012. I got a letter in the mail with no return address. As a person generally living in the 21st century, I wasn't used to getting letters, particularly mysterious ones. I stuck the letter in my coat pocket, and made my way back to the house. Once in my room, I sat on my bed and looked at the letter. It was a yellow envelope, fairly unusual, though we had some we occasionally used. It had no stamp on it, but it was addressed to SF Gavin Richardson. I don't know how normal people open letters, but as I never receive letters I am quite inexperienced with opening envelopes. So I do what I normally do when I receive a letter, try to open it like it was intended to be opened, get frustrated, claw at it until I can get an opening, and then proceed to rip it to shreds, usually leaving the contents intact.
     I unfolded the letter that I had pulled out of the ripped remains of the envelope. The lights in my room flickered. I looked around suspiciously. My lights never flickered unless there was a storm. But I went back to reading the letter.

"Dear Mr. Richardson,--"

 Before I could get past the greeting, I heard a noise from the kitchen. No one was at home, so I wondered what it could be. I supposed it was just one of those noises that the house makes when no one else is home, like "creeaaaaaakkkk" or "Gavin, I'm coming to kill you," but I decided to check it out anyway. I put the letter down and slowly walked to the kitchen. Nothing was out of place. While I was in the kitchen I decided to grab the bag of Doritos. That isn't important to the story, I just like Doritos. I went back to my room and picked up the letter. Suspenseful music started playing. I ate a Dorito. I reopened the letter.

"Dear Mr. Richardson,

Are you tired of paying too much for cable? Have you or a loved one died from using the drug euxjruhuweuweoueouebananaqfohefioizine after a hip replacement surgery? Are you tired of being fat?

Well we have just the product for you."

This seemed like a legitimate offer, and I had recently died, after all, and I was left feeling out of shape after Skinny Hank's Peanut Sauce failed to make a difference in my physique. I decided to call the number at the bottom of the letter. 

    The phone rung. After a few seconds of ringing an old Indian woman picked up the phone. "Hello?" I said. "Yo." said the old Indian woman. 

    "Yes, I'm calling about the product I received this letter about?"

"Ok." she said. 

 There was a silence for the next several minutes, save the buzzing of the phone. 

"Hello?" I said again.

    "Sup," the old Indian woman said. 

    My cat brushed against my leg. He looked up at me, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, his ears flopping. He was the biggest, ugliest cat I had ever seen, and at first I didn't want to keep him. But after a while, he started growing on me, much like mold on bread, except not as literal. I threw a carrot I conveniently was holding at him. He grabbed it in his ugly cat-muzzle and scampered down the hall. 

    The old Indian lady was obviously not going to help me, so I hung up the phone. I exited the phone room and made my way back to the bedroom. What waited for me there I could never had imagined. 

       I opened my bedroom door. I gasped. Actually didn't gasp. I made a quizzical expression, which is usually as close as I get to gasping. There, standing on the other side of the room... Was me. But with sunglasses. "What are you doing here?" I asked, surprised. "Who are you?" 

     "I'm you..." He said, taking off his sunglasses, "From the future." 

      "Ok."

So we went on adventures fighting space pirates, basically. 

The end.

  

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.