I Promised a Joke About Cheese

This was originally going to be a Facebook status update, but I realized it required more setup than that would allow.  After all, anyone familiar with my writing knows that I tend to get a tad, uh, “wordy”.

I went to Austin this past weekend to hang out with one of my best friends in the world.  And, despite the fact that South By Southwest was going on, he and I went to the south part of the city for tacos.  So after a late lunch at Maria’s on South Lamar, Bear decided that we needed to drop in on a friend of his nearby.  “You’ll get along”, Bear said.  “He’s smart and he loves to read.”  Ok.

So I pull up in a long driveway (after a few false starts – “The house is at the bottom of a hill and the address ends in 00”, he says) and am feeling a bit uncomfortable about the pop in move.  Bear kept saying it was no big deal because he had brought a 6 pack of beer (Sierra Nevada, for those interested).  And, because of the way the driveway and house were situated, we didn’t even go to the front door, but instead went to the back.

It was unlocked.  Bear just opened the door and announced “Don’t shoot, old man.” 

The “old man” is named Gordon, and he is super nice.  He had three computers in the first room we entered, and it was like walking into a computer museum.  I’m talking about the Macs that I used to have in high school in the late 80’s that pretty much did nothing.  Or did nothing like we are used to these days.

(See? There is no way a Facebook status update would have even come close to doing this story credit.)

We each grabbed a beer, walked to the front of the house, and contemplated a tree problem that involved chainsaws, jugglers, and mimes.  I might have made some of that up.  But it doesn’t really matter because we moved to the back patio in short order to sit down, enjoy our smokes, and sip our beers.

And that is when the neighbor decided to walk his goat.

(See? There is no way a Facebook status update would have even come close to doing this story credit.)

And by “goat”, I mean a goat on steroids.  I’m not on FarmersOnly.com, so I am not well versed in goat species, but this was a big effing goat.  Damn, near cow sized. 

And as the neighbor is walking along the bamboo and chainlink fence that separates the two properties, he yells out to regale us with his humor.  “Did you guys hear about the big explosion at the cheese factory in Paris, France?”

“No”, we all said.  At least I think we did.

“Debris everywhere!” (Say it out loud, but change the spelling to “de brie”.)

My immediate reply?  “That’s a gouda one!”

Cheesy, I know.  But I one-upped a man with a goat on a leash in south Austin during SXSW.  That’s tombstone material.


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