
21 Nov The Show Goat
âThe Show Goatâ
Written by Geoff Sturtevant Edited by Craig Groshek Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek Narrated by N/ACopyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).
đ§ Available Audio Adaptations: None Available
â° ESTIMATED READING TIME â 18 minutes
The police cruiser rumbled down the long gravel driveway, trailing a moldering cloud of dust thatâd hang there until they left. About halfway down there was a sign nailed to a tree that said: IF YOU CAN READ THIS, YOUâRE IN RANGE. Depicted below this tender sentiment was the shadowed silhouette of an AR-15. Sheriff Ron Ball doubted the man at the drivewayâs end could actually hit him from here, but heâd sure be a fool to try. Ball couldnât hit the man from here either, but the last thing this day needed was a needless situation.
Most situations, Ball had found in his twenty-some years of law enforcement, were just thatâneedlessâand this one was likely no different. It gave one a sense of needlessness, being a steward of solutions to needless problems, but Ball supposed someone had to do it. It was just what he was supposed to do.
Deputy Dingle pointed at the clever little sign as they passed. âSee that there?â
âYeah. What about it?â
âWell, kinda funny.â
âI donât believe âfunnyâ is the intention, Deputy.â
âWell, I thought you just said how you had a âfunny feelingâ about this one.â
âOh, I do,â the sheriff said. âAfter twenty years of sifting through bullshit, you get a sense when somethingâs funny. Not funny like a clever little sign, Dingle. Funny like a criminal tryinâ to outstrip the law.â
They rolled on. At the culmination of the long driveway was a little ranch house with a tarpaper roof. Sheep of all size bleated to announce their arrival: piccolo, tenor, baritone, and one that sounded like a busted kazoo. Stepping out of the car, Ball spotted the particular sheep in question. He knew it was the one, because it looked a little like a busted kazoo itself.
Dingle got out and put on his sunglasses. He only shut his door after Ball shut his. They made their way to the front door.
Before the two men could get there, the screen door opened, and out stepped the man of the house. Ball noted, through his keen police-instincts, that the man seemed a little uneasy. Maybe even a little guilty.
âWell thank heavens,â he said.
âMr. Laundry,â Ball said, âWhat seems to be the problem?â
âWell didnât they tell you?â
âLaundry?â asked Dingle. âDid I hear that right?â
âThatâs right, sir.â
âWell, howâd you get a name like that?â
âFigure his ancestors did the laundry,â Ball said.
âOh, right… That makes sense.â
Laundry shifted a little uneasily. âGentlemen, I got a situation here. Not sure itâs the time toââ
âI hear you had a little run-in with an unwanted guest?â
âWell, thatâs puttinâ it mildly,â Laundry said. âBut yeah, thatâs about the size of it.â
âAnd the fellaâs still here, I gather?â
âThatâs right. Just around the corner there. In the pen.â
Ball gave Dingle a nod, and they followed Laundry around the side of the house.
Laundry led them through a rickety little gate and into an animal pen. It appeared the pen was a kind of co-ed affair with a number of different animals walking around. A few ducks, a threadbare sheep which didnât look much better than the busted kazoo, an unidentifiable specimen of poultry Ball took for a maladjusted turkey, and a nice little goat, perfectly black, but with a fancy little white beard.
âThatâs the poor goat that was victimized,â Laundry said. âHis nameâs Liberace. Grade-A, FFA show goat. But humble as the day is long. Even more so now, I reckon.â
But Ball and Dingle were not especially focused on the goat that moment. Nearby was a shoe. The shoe by itself wasnât so suspicious on its own, but it appeared to have a foot still in it. And attached to that was a good amount of leg. A little red meat dangling out the end of it. The dirt underneath had turned brown where the blood soaked in.
âHey!â Dingle said. He clutched his stomach.
âThat there shoe and that there leg is the guyâs who was assaulting poor Liberace.â
Dingle looked about to barf for a moment, but his Adamâs apple bobbed, and he choked it back. It was well-known that the deputy had a delicate stomach. âWell goddamn. Whereâd the rest of him go?â
The farmer was patting the little goat on the head and muttering words of consolation.
âDonât you worry, Liberace, these men are here to take care of things. Theyâll make sure you get your justice.â
Ball approached the lonely leg and stepped on the toe of the shoe. The leg stood up straight, the bone visible in the end of it. It looked to have been sawed clean through. He took his foot off the shoe and the leg fell over again. A few ducks waddled away in disgust.
âSeems like some manner of justice has already been delivered.â
âThat fella there raped my show goat! FFA certified.â
âThis fella here?â Bell indicated the leg.
âI thought dispatch said heâd shot an intruder,â Dingle said.
âThatâs right,â Laundry cut in. âI legally and justifiably shot the man for intruding on my property. But I also have the right to seek damages against his estate for what he done to my goat. Ainât that right, Liberace?â
Ball and Dingle looked at each other, then at the goat. The goat was contentedly chewing a mouthful of grass. Landry appeared to be chewing too, but it was just the muscles working in his jaw.
âWhereâs the rest of him?â Ball asked.
âRest of who?â
Ball gestured at the lonely leg lying in the dirt.
âOh. Aside the leg? Rest of himâs over there.â
Landry took the two officers around the side of the house where the penned-in area continued. There, by a dilapidated old doghouse was a pile of what used to be man, but was barely identifiable as so. Beside the missing leg was a botched attempt at the removal of another. Along with that, the man seemed to have been partially field-dressed. His gut was sliced down the middle with his vittles hanging out from whatever gristle normally kept âem in there. Blood was everywhere. It was a mess unfit for Satanâs stewpot.
âJesus!â Dingle said, his knees wobbling. âWhatâd ya? I mean… I thought you said youâd shot him! Mmmmph!â He gagged.
âI shot the man, thatâs correct. And not until I clearly identified him as a legitimate threat to my life and liberty.â
A goat bleated, and they turned to see Liberace coming around the corner. He walked up next to Sheriff Ball and just stood next to his leg. Ball scratched the goat on the nose.
âSo this the man they said violated you, little fella?â
âThatâs him, all right. Dirty, raping sonofabitch.â
âDo you know who the man is?â
âNo, sir, I never seen him before in my entire life.â
âDeputy, go âhead and check if heâs got ID on him.â
Dingle hesitated. His Adamâs apple bobbed up and down. âMaybe you could do it? Youâre in charge, after all.â
âThatâs right. Thatâs why Iâm questioning the suspect. And scratching this goat while Iâm at it.â
âSuspect?â snapped Laundry. âThe only suspect here is that one right there!â
âWell, I canât exactly question him, can I?â
Laundry glanced at the corpse. âWell, Iâm only sayinâ…â
The dead man still had his jeans on, and Ball noted there did indeed appear to be a bulge in his front left pocket.
âRight there in the manâs pocket, Deputy. Go âhead and grab that out.â
âI donât have any gloves on…â
âI didnât say to check his prostate, I said to grab his wallet.â
Resigned, Dingle took a deep breath and stiffened his upper lip. He walked to the body and squatted next to it with his head turned. He probed a thumb and forefinger into the manâs pocket and extracted a worn and bloody wallet. He held it out like a dead rat.
âBring it here, Deputy.â
Laundry, Ball noted, was shifting his weight from foot to foot. After twenty years dealing with the general public, Ball had learned a thing or two about body language. Most people didnât want to talk to him at all. And the ones that did were mostly talking bull. Especially the ones that looked nervous. It got old after a while. Real old.
âJust hold that open for me, Deputy. No sense gettinâ both our hands dirty.â
Dingle huffed. He held open the wallet displaying the expired driverâs license. Chester Simms.
âOh, I know this fella,â Ball said. He compared the picture to the mess in the dirt. âKnowed him at least. Wouldnât know him for lookinâ at him now, would ya?â
âHeâs the one we brought in for stealing? Month or two ago?â
âHeâs been stealinâ since he was a teenager. Tell you what, though. I never knew him for a man to cornhole a show goat. Matter of fact, I donât think Iâve ever known any man as one to cornhole a show goat. How âbout you, Deputy?â
âNo sir. Canât say I ever have.â
âLaundry, how âbout you? You ever known a man to cornhole a show goat? I mean before this fella right here?â
âNot in a million years,â he said.
Ball scrutinized the man. âHmm. Well you donât look that old to me,â he said.
Ball patted the goat gently on the head. He looked it over a little bit, then straightened up and scratched under his hatband.
âDeputy, this goat look traumatized at all to you?â
âTraumatized, Sheriff?â
âYou know. Like it mightâve been made love to without express consent?â
Dingle wrinkled his forehead and appraised the little goat like something on a used car lot. âHard to say for certain, Sheriff. He looks alright to me, but itâs hard to tell a goatâs feelings by lookinâ at âem. The thing about goatsâthey got a way of just standinâ there.â
âWell, Iâm no psychoanalyst, Deputy, but Iâm sure if you wanna find out if that goatâs been fucked or not, youâre gonna wanna have a look at that end of it.â Ball raised his chin to indicate the other end of the goat. The part you wouldnât usually give a scritch.
âYou sayinâ you want me to look at its ass?â
âWell I donât know where youâd fuck a goat, but I got a pretty good idea thatâs where this guy was thinkinâ.â He pointed with his chin again, this time at the disemboweled corpse. âIf he did indeed fuck it, that is…â
âI already told you thatâs what he did,â Laundry insisted.
The goat bleated, but not necessarily in agreement or disagreement.
âWell, why do I have to do it?â
âYouâre the deputy. Iâm the sheriff.â
âWell then, whoâd know better than you? I got no experience in that area.â
âWell, Iâm here pattinâ the goat on the head. How am I supposed to pat it on the head and look up its ass at the same time? Iâm a sheriff, not some kinda contortionist.â
Dingle huffed again, but the sheriffâs reasoning was undeniable. Reluctantly, he walked around back of the goat and leaned over with his hands on his knees. âThis is goddamn undignified,â he muttered.
âSee anything?â
âA goatâs asshole, mostly.â
âWell, howâs it look?â
Dingle squinted. âIs there a way itâs supposed to look? I got no frame of reference, Sheriff.â
âDoes it look like itâs been…put upon in some way? Get in there, Dingle. Get in close and have a good lookie-loo.â
With a note of distaste on his face, Dingle got down on his knees and got right in close to the goatâs ass. âI donât exactly know what Iâm lookinâ for…â
âDoes it look like anyoneâs been rootinâ around in it?â
âItâs hard to say, I just…aw, shit!â
Dingle fell back on his ass and elbows.
âWhatâs the matter, Deputy?â
âGoddamn goat just shat right in my… mmmph!â
âDeputy! After what this poor goatâs supposedly been through, the last thing it needs is to be made ashamed.â
âThis is goddamn undignified,â Dingle muttered.
âSay, I donât know what you boys are lookinâ fer,â Laundry said. âBut I assure you itâs just like I said. I mean, just look at himâhe donât need the stress. Poor thingâs had his world turned upside-down.â
Ball looked at the goat. The goat chewed.
âWell, maybe youâre right. How âbout we just take a statement then, and let the poor fella be for a minute?â
âSounds reasonable.â
âDeputy, you writinâ this down?â
Dingle brushed the dirt off of his trousers. He pulled a scratch pad and pen from his back pocket. âGo ahead.â
The sheriff patted the goat. It shook its tail and let out a few more pellets. âSo itâs your contention, Mr. Laundry, that you came outside and saw Mr. Simms here making love to your prize show goat.â
âHe was fuckinâ it, thatâs correct.â
âAnd then what happened?â
âWell, I seen him. I told him to stop right there and put his hands up.â
âAnd when you said that, where were the manâs hands previously?â
âWell, on the goat, I guess. Where elseâd they be?â
âOn the goatâs back? Like this?â Ball put his hands on Liberaceâs back. The goat bleated.
âYeah, just like that,â Laundry said. âJust exactly the way you got âem now.â
âAnd what did he do when you told him that?â
âWell, he just kept goinâ.â
âKept on…humpinâ the goat?â
âWent right on fuckinâ him. Right in the ass there. I tell ya, Sheriff, I was so damn mad, I coulda smoked a pickle. So whatâs a man to do?â
Ball nodded, crossed his arms. âWell, I agree with you, Mr. Laundry. I donât think thereâs a jury in the world would convict a man for defending his FFA show goat against such an assault.â
âWell, thatâs right. And Iâd appreciate it very much if you could get his deceased person out of my goat pen.â
The sheriff eyed the body, stroking his mustache in contemplation.
âJust how many times you shoot him, you said?â
âWell, just once, I reckon.â
âJust once, you said?â
âYessir.â
âAnd he ended up like that?â
Laundry looked at the mess on the ground. The flies had already started to gather on it. âWell, I mustâve hit him just right.â
Ball was standing with his hands on his hips. He reached up to scratch under his hatband. Laundry was shifting back and forth on his feet a bit. âYou gettinâ this, Deputy?â
âYessir. Shot him once, hit him just so.â
Ball took his sunglasses off, folded them, and tucked them in his shirt pocket. He regarded the mangled man in the dirt. He looked over his shoulder, but the aforementioned shoe with the leg in it was not even visible from here.
âYouâll forgive me saying so, Mr. Laundry, but Iâve never seen a man shot once to end up in such a condition.â
â.308 huntinâ rifle. Good round. Never can say what itâll do to a body…â
â.308. Ainât that what you used to kill that buck, Deputy?â
âThatâs right. My daddyâs gun.â
âAnd when you shot it, what exactly happened to it?â
âWell, it started to run off, then I guess it realized itâd been shot and just sat down.â
âAny of its legs blowed off? Nothing like that?â
âNaw, legs stayed put. Didnât shoot him nearly as good as this fella.â
âSo you say itâs possible Mr. Laundry here shot this man once and he ended up in such a state?â
âWell, Iâm no forensicist, but…thatâs what the man says.â
âI donât see why all the suspiciousness,â Laundry said. âIâm just a man lookinâ out for his goat, same as you or anyone else would.â
âWell, howâd you account for the one leg beinâ so far away from the rest of him, Mr. Laundry? I canât even see it from here.â
âDog coulda dragged it.â
âA dog? Mustâve had to be a big one. What kinda dog you have?â
Laundry wiped his nose on his shirt sleeve, then wiped his shirt sleeve on his pants. âWell, I donât have one myself. Figure one coulda come in through the fence.â
âAnd whereâs it now?â
âWell, mustâve run off.â
âRun off.â
âWell, thatâs feasible,â the deputy said.
The sheriff threw Dingle a glanceâthe one he used to say: pay close attention. With more than just your eyes and ears. The police instinct wasnât something you were born with 20/20. It was more like a little baby you had to raise to adulthood.
âWell sir, Iâm willing to entertain the idea that some cosmic anomaly caused this man to disintegrate the way he did when you shot him just once with that rifle. See, in my line of work, youâre apt to come across all sorts of little curiosities. Ainât that right Deputy Dingle?â
âWell, thatâs right Sheriff. Every morning I wake up I think to myself Iâm apt to see something curious today. And most of the time, that fact bears out.â
âSee, all I have trouble wrapping my mind around is that a fella would do such a terrible thing to such an adorable little show goat. Itâs just unconscionable.â
The goat bleated in agreement.
âWeâre in agreement there, Sheriff. Itâs a goddamn abomination. Thatâs why I did my civic duty and put him down when I could.â
âWhich is why I aim to make sure no jury might see things otherwise, thereby puttinâ you, Mr. Laundry, a moral paragon and model citizen, in any potential legal dilemma. By conducting a thorough investigation, of course.â
Ball felt a tug at his trousers and saw Liberace had begun to nibble on âem. He patted the goat on the head and pulled his pants loose.
âDeputy, do me a favor and go have a look at the fellaâs pecker there.â
âWhat? Whose pecker? You mean the chickens?â
âWell, the dead fella. Just go pull it out. See if itâs got goat shit on it.â
A pause.
âYou pullinâ my leg, Sheriff?â
Ball shook his head. ââFraid our countyâs woefully short in the forensics department. Inevitably, some of that responsibility falls on us. But maybe Mr. Laundry over here could save you the trouble anyway. Waddya think, Laundry? If I have Deputy Dingle here to pull the manâs peter out, ya think itâll have any evidence on it?â
Laundryâs eyes were wide. âYou mean to pull out the manâs peter?â He was shifting faster on his feet now. Looked like he was holding back a gallon of pee.
âYou got something you wanna say, Mr. Laundry?â
Laundry took a breath and restored his resolve. âI do not. I already told ya what happened.â
Ball sighed. âDingle, go fish out the manâs peter. If itâs still remaining, that is. With Laundryâs exceptional rifle here, it mightâve ended up somewhere else entirely.â
âBare-handed? But Sheriff!â
âNo need to be so formal, Deputy. Police work is dirty business.â
âDammit… Just undignified.â
Dingle steeled himself and kneeled again by the body. Turning away, he seized the zipper of the jeans and yanked at it, losing his grip several times from the blood. Finally, with it pinched firmly between his fingernails, he was able to zip it down. He looked back at Bell.
âGo âhead, it wonât bother him any.â
âNot worried about him beinâ bothered…mmmph!â
Dingle, with a look on his face like he was reaching into an unflushed toilet, fished around in the manâs fly until he unseated the bloodless and flaccid prick. Once he had it out, he recoiled, clutching the offending hand to his chest. Then he wiped his hand on his pants and stuck it in his pocket. He turned away and heaved.
âWell, howâs it look to you, Dingle? Look like itâs been up a goatâs ass?ââ
âCanât tell by lookinâ at it.â
âWell, have a look at it.â
âI said I looked at it. Have a look yourself. Iâm not feelinâ so hot.â
Ball ambled over and looked down at the manâs pud. There was really no way of telling whether it had been anywhere inappropriate. Not by lookinâ at it. Dingle was right.
Bell returned to where heâd previously been standing and patted the goat on the head. âSo far, our investigation remains inconclusive,â he said.
âWell canât ya just take my word fer it? I told ya all I know.â
Bell stroked his mustache. âWeâll need to move this up the chain of investigational procedurism is all. Soon as my deputy gets his bearings there. You alright there, Deputy?â
âUn-goddamn-dignified,â Dingle said.
âMaybe so, but a manâs life hangs in the balance, Deputy.â
âManâs deaderân shit, Sheriff; only thing I see hanginâs his pecker.â
âItâs not his life Iâm talkinâ about, Deputy. Itâs innocent olâ Mr. Laundry Iâm worried about. If it turned out we couldnât prove Mr. Simms here was indeed guilty as charged, then where would that leave poor Laundry? In a steaminâ heap of trouble, for all we know.â
Laundryâs face went white when heard that last part. âWell dammit, fellas, what do I gotta do?â
âYou already done what you had to do. Now Deputy Dingleâs gotta get down there and examine the suspectâs wiener a little more. Gotta sniff it for evidence.â
âWhat?â
Dingle had half a smile on his face, but it quickly straightened out as he realized Ball wasnât joking.
âYou canât expect me to do that, Sheriff, Iâm no sniffer of mensâ peters! Live or deceased! Besides, I got no frame of reference!â
âThe hell you donât. Very same goat here just took a frame of reference right in front of ya. All you gotta do is have a sniff and see if the aromas match up.â
âAw hell,â Laundry said. âIs that really necessary?â
âUnless you got something else to tell me, Mr. Laundry. Anything mightâve initially slipped your mind, maybe?â
âI most certainly do not! I told you boys what happened, and thatâs all I got to tell ya!â
Ball took out his shades and put them back on. He took a step toward where Laundry was standing. A little mourning dove flew out of a locust tree and lighted on the fence. âYou told us something, all right. For twenty years now, thatâs all peopleâve been telling me. Somethinâ. Whatever they think is gonna make their problems go away. Or just make me go away. The minute you walk in a room, people start changing what they wanna tell ya. Nowadays, seems like the second I pin on this badge, someoneâs waitinâ to feed me a line of crap.â He took another step closer to Laundry. âAnd thatâs what I think youâre doinâ to me right now.â
âAw, hell…â Laundry waved a hand in dismissal. But his eyes showed something different.
Ball took his shades back off and looked him dead in the eye. âSee, Iâd hate for the Grand Jury to get an idea you lied to the police about any of this. If that were the case, they might even deem this an unjustified shooting. And who knows whatâd come of that? Life in prison…death penalty… The way I see things, Laundry, is this man either fucked your goat, or you went and fucked yourself. And I mean to find out which one. And thatâs why Deputy Dingle here is gonna have to suck that manâs dead dick. Just to check if it tastes like goat shit.â
âWait, what? Mmmph!â
âAww hell…â Laundry looked different all of a suddenâa little like he was gonna cry.
âHow âbout now, Laundry? You got something you wanna tell me?â
Laundryâs jaw was really workinâ now. A fella like him could only bear so much on his conscience. And by the state of the half-disassembled body nearby, Ball knew he hadnât the capacity to bear this one out.
âFuck,â Laundry said. âItâs like you saidâŚThe fella was fixinâ to steal a chicken. I caught him doinâ it before. Just gets me so mad, thatâs all. Another man thinkinâ heâs justified to take your property. But after I realized what Iâd done, I tried to…â
âYou tried to make it all go away. And when you found you didnât have the stomach for it, you went ahead and called me. Good olâ Sheriff Ball, to come down here and clean up your mess. That right?â
Laundry looked away. The goat bleated, and Sheriff Ball scratched it under its chin. He looked back at Deputy Dingle, gave him a little grin. The look on Dingleâs face was plain astonishment. The little dove cooed disinterestedly and flew back into the tree. Ball guessed itâd been rootinâ to see Dingle go the distance. He had to wonder how long this investigation mightâve gone on if either Laundry or Dingle had the stomach for what theyâd signed up for.
âAw, whatâs it even matter?â Laundry said.
âBeg your pardon?â asked Ball.
Laundry took a breath, wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. âYou know… Iâve been farming this land since before you were even sheriff, Sheriff. And sometimes it feels like Iâm only holding the spot for the next fella thatâs stupid enough to farm it.â
âNow what do you mean by that?â
âYou raise chickens, the coyotes get half of âem. You grow crops, the rabbits eat half of âem. Whatever you end up with, the government takes half of it…â He shook his head. âI used to get upset about things, but not so much nowadays. âCause when it comes down to it, weâre all just playing our parts. This fella here, he was supposed to steal a chicken, because thatâs what chicken stealers do. And I figure I was supposed to shoot him, because thatâs just what I ended up doing. And Iâm sorry for lyinâ, Sheriff, but itâs just like you said: we lie to ya because thatâs just what we gotta do to keep playinâ our parts. Like some big, pointless game that just keeps goinâ and goinâ. And no one ever wins, because the game never ends. And no one calls foul, because the game itself is foul. And it doesnât matter how good or bad you play, because when youâre done playinâ, youâre done playinâ. And thereâs another oneâs right behind you waiting to take your place. Another farmer, another sheriff, another chicken thief. And nothing in between makes a damn bit of difference.â
The three men just stood there a minute. It seemed no one wanted to be the next to talk. Only the soft sounds of the animals in their pens, the chickens scratching in the dirt, The crickets in the brush beyond the fence. The goat chewed. The man on the ground, eviscerated as he were, just kind of laid there with his dick out.
Liberace was the one who broke the silence. The sheriff came out of his reverie and patted the little goat on the head. Heâd always wondered what exactly goats were trying to say when they bleated like that. They seemed perfectly happy, just chewing, looking around, shitting every so often. And once in a while, theyâd bleat. Itâd taken him twenty years to realize it, but suddenly, Ball knew exactly what the goats were trying to say. They were saying: âFuck it.â And Ball found he couldnât agree more.
The sheriff cleared his throat. âYou keep hogs, Laundry?â
âHogs? Yeah, I got hogs. Pig penâs just on the other side of the house. Why?â
âCurious creatures, they are. Eat just about anything they see. Damnedest thingâIâve seen âem eat their own, even. Skin, bones, teeth, everything. Iâve wondered about that. But I guess thatâs just what hogs do.â
A pause. A tacit understanding.
âYou figure maybe your hogs might be able to…tidy up around here?â
Laundry raised an eyebrow, turned to the mess and back to the sheriff. âNow that you mention itâhypothetical of courseâI suppose if given the opportunity, they just might. If that were to happen. In a manner of speaking, of course.â
Ball straightened up and nodded to the deputy. Some of the color had come back into his face. He turned back to Laundry. âMaybe you oughta let âem stretch their legs a bit. Fraternize with the ducks and the chickens and even olâ Liberace here.â
Laundry nodded. âItâs a fine idea, Sheriff.â
âAny thoughts, Dingle?â
Dingle appeared to mull on that for a moment, then said: âLittle gray-area, Iâd say, Sheriff.â
âIâd say so too. But Iâve come to believe thatâs where the game is played.â
The three men looked at each other. A questionable triumvirate under a wide-open sky, beyond which the trillions of stars and all their planets revolved without a hitch. There were no lightning bolts from the heavens, no one struck down. Not even a peep from the dove in the locust tree. Ball looked down at the goat, but Liberace offered no disagreement.
âHeâs a pretty goat, Mr. Laundry.â
âWell thank you. FFA certified.â
âWell, keep an eye out nobody fucks him.â
âWill do, Sheriff Ball. You two take care now.â
Without a word, Ball and Dingle made their way back to the cruiser and got inside. Ball put his key in the ignition and just sat there a second. From between his thighs came a sound almost otherworldly. An unabashed, crackling fart that went on an uncommonly long time.
The men met eyes, but not a word passed between them.
There were no words left that needed saying.
Ball put the cruiser in drive, and the two went back up the driveway.
âJust a little misunderstanding,â Ball said into his radio. âYeah… Nah, no worries at all… Copy that… All right now.â
Autumn was just setting in, and though it was early afternoon, the sun had already passed its apex in the sky. The leaves had lost their luster, and the dry, dead ones crinkled under the wheels and spun in the wheel wells. Out on the main drag, there was a little dead dove on the roadside the sheriff was pretty sure he hadnât seen on the way in. One of its wings twitched, like the birdâs dying effort to wave goodbye. Or give them the finger, perhaps. The sheriff had never known a dove to do such a thing, but every day was filled with curiosities.
A million light-years away, a star exploded. An earthquake shook the alien terrain of some uninhibited world no one even knew about. And all over the sprawling circle of the earth, there were acts of impropriety so dastardly, even Laundry couldnât have thought them up himself. The liars were lyinâ, the stealers were stealinâ, and some sick sonofabitch had his pecker up a show goatâs ass. Somewhere. But not here. Not today.
âSay, Sheriff,â Dingle asked, âyou werenât really gonna make me do that back there, were ya?â
âBack where?â Ball said.
đ§ Available Audio Adaptations: None Available
đ More stories from author: Geoff Sturtevant
Publisher's Notes: N/A Check out Geoff Sturtevantâs critically-acclaimed collection of short stories, Occupational Hazards: The Blue-Collar Omnibus, now available on Amazon.com. Occupational Hazards is an omnibus of acclaimed novelettes from the âReturn to the Dirtâ and âJust Speculatingâ collections, and new, exclusive stories only available in this book. The stories exemplify the unsavory side of our everyday existence. Existentialism, absurdism, and outlandish humor merge with ordinary, workaday life for a unique and hilarious perspective of the human experience. Occupational Hazards is an unflinching ride through the absurdity of it all. Not recommended for the faint of heart or easily offended. But if meaty stories are what youâre after⌠I hope youâre hungry.
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