Oppity noppity coppity eopitty toppity hoppity eoppity roppitty eoppity was a rather long name for a goat, and so I don’t think that anyone need ever consider naming their goat that, assuming they can figure out how to pronounce it. If it was up to me, all goats would be named Nicholas Cage and be forced to part their hair, and also Michael Bay would have to move to Mars for the greater good of humanity.
And that, my good friends, is why I should never be elected to the office of the President of the Galaxy. Well, that and also because of my insatiable lust for human blood.
Moving on: Where is this train of thought heading, anyway? I don’t know. I had a plan, but I forgot. Oh, yes.
Seeing as my life long goal of becoming the President of the Galaxy have been thwarted by my vampiric tendencies (I blame Simon Pegg), my new life long goal involves becoming the President of Romania, because the Romanians aren’t ones to judge about things like that. Also, as the galaxy will eventually be swallowed by the Danube Delta for some reason, and the Danube Delta is in Romania, then the transitive property will make me President of the Galaxy, but not really.
And that, my friends, is the true meaning of the Saint Valentine’s Day Massacre.
P.S. This post includes a reference to an earlier post I made on this blog. The first person to comment with the name of that post shall receive a haiku composed to their greatness.