So, You Come to this Trough Often?

I like to read about news of the bizarre. Most newspapers have a special section devoted to these types of stories (Reuters calls their section "Oddly Enough".) The journalists do their best to report these stories with a straight face, and most are amusing but forgettable. They require no special commentary. What I'm interested in are those stories that totally blow your mind as you read them (Meth-Stoked Threesome comes to mind, as do the romantic adventures of ShamWow!) It's almost as though you have to rub your eyes and re-read the passage to make sure you read it correctly. The earnest Joe Friday delivery by the reporters does these stories a tremendous disservice. These stories demand editorial comment.

And so I offer for your amusement the subject of today's edition of Sadly Hilarious, under the headline "Iloilo Farmer Molests, Kills Neighbor's Goat."

Yes, it seems that some undoubtedly handsome and charming 18-year old Filipino farmer stopped at a bar on his way home from the rice fields one night and proceeded to get completely blotto. Having previously caught the neighbor's goat giving him The Eye, he decided that tonight he would give the toothsome beast the night of its life. So he drained the last sweet drops of liquid courage into the tank of his swerving libido and made his way to the goat's holding pen. Apparently the goat knew how to push all the right buttons. As stoically reported in the article:

"The report quoted [the farmer] as saying he was going to gather the harvested rice when he saw the goat in a 'prone' position, and took 'interest.'

He said he strangled the goat when it tried to resist his advances.

[He] is now facing charges of malicious mischief from the police.

Clearly PETA wouldn't be amused by this story. But man, this is so full of failure, I hardly know where to start. Let's take it from the top.

First of all, there have always been men/women who have viewed the world through beer-tinted glasses on occasion. Nothing new. But if you are so hammered that seeing a GOAT in a prone position makes you stop and "take interest," you really need to lay off that bad hooch. Really.

Second, of course the goat resisted his advances. It's a goat. He/she will always be interested in other goats. No combination of eloquently slurred come-ons and Sex Panther cologne is going to overcome that elemental obstacle, big boy. Choking the goat to death for being a goat is just spiteful. Or, in Filipino legal jargon, malicious mischief.

Third, malicious mischief? That's what he gets?? Sawing the heads off parking meters is malicious mischief. Molesting and choking your neighbor's goat is something completely different. Perhaps due to the unique (I hope) nature of this case, the system doesn't have a law that would deal with such a shameful villain. Perhaps malicious mischief is a catch-all law for when cops scratch their heads and say, "Heck if I know what to call it, but something happened here that is totally effed up and deserving of punishment." Ultimately, what you call it is less important than the punishment. Some sort of restitution to the neighbor is in order. But I think being known to every girl in the village as the drunken idiot that humps and strangles goats is its own kind of prison. And he built the walls of that prison himself. Sadly, I see a lot more drinking in his future.

Boys of Summer Fade Like the Season

Rocky Mountain High
Bludgeoned by Howard's swift bat.
Farewell, Rocktober.

Paging Theo Kojak

Hair. It's a regular frustration to me. More precisely, getting it cut. Why is it so difficult to find a barber that knows how to cut men's hair? I walk into the shop and there they are, all lined up in their crepe-apron finery, hair school certificates tacked to the mirror behind them, as if that's supposed to instill some sort of confidence in their ability to sculpt a handsome coiffure. But I know better.

No, when I sit down and she asks "How you want cut," I know whatever I say next has no bearing on what I will actually get. I may as well tell her I want to look like this dapper fella up top here. Although I'm pretty sure he got exactly what he asked for, a fact that only magnifies my frustration. That kid, who probably nourishes his supple cheeks with a steady diet of Little Debbies, paint chips and gasoline fumes, walked into a barber shop somewhere in Knoxville and described that NASCAR Dreamcut to his barber, and the barber made it happen. Why can't I walk in and say, "I'd just like a trim. See how it is now? Cut it like that, but shorter." I even show her exactly how much I want cut off. Doesn't matter. She'll keep cutting until it is entirely uneven and uncombable. Is it a language barrier? Am I slurring my words? Lack of training? Lack of concern? Need for speed?

Whatever the reason, it doesn't matter. The result is always the same. I leave looking like I cut it myself with a Swiss Army knife, sans mirror. I want to shave it bald every time I get home.

Some would suggest going to a real Aveda-style salon to get it done. To that I say, I am admittedly a man of certain vanities, but paying salon prices every month for a haircut is a bit left of equilibrium on my demand curve. If I were a woman getting my hair cut every 3-4 months, sure. No problem. But every 3-4 weeks gets to be a bit much. If I had the patience, I'd grow it out long so I wouldn't have to go through the trama so regularly. But I don't have that patience, so it's T-minus 3 weeks until the next trip to the butcher's. Maybe I'll just take a picture of NASCAR Toby up there with me. Couldn't get any worse.