Louis Wu Despite Louis' objections that he is no goat lover, it is highly suspicious that his strident denials on the HBO forum are so vehement. Careful research and interviews have shown that Louis has a long history with goats, one that extends even unto his remotest ancestors. Lost in the mists of time are the true details of the founding of the Wu dynasty, but certain stories have been handed down for generations that tell of the beginning of the Wu family's love for goats. One of the earliest tales is that the patriarch of the Wu family, Wu Wu, was the engineer of a train in Bali when he happened to see a goat on the tracks. Instead of running the hapless creature down, he stopped the train and rescued the kid. As the Book of Wu Tales tells us: When Wu took the goat in his arms there occurred a great crash of thunder and smoke, followed by a deeply resonant coughing. When the smoke cleared Wu beheld the awesome presence of Goatabub, minor minion of hell and protector of all evil goats. When Wu turned to run away, Goatabub laughed and proclaimed, "For saving my kine you shall be rewarded, but only so long as you care for this goat and her descendents. Take this kid and nurture her and your family shall grow and prosper." Wu took the goat in his arms, thinking he would get rid of her as soon as he got home, but Goatabub divinded his thoughts and spake, "Oh Wu, recant your thoughts, for if you cast her off your ears will grow and birds shall nest in them!" With a loud rumbling and more smoke, Goatabub returned to the nether regions. Wu took the goat home and named her Daisy. The pronouncements of Goatabub came true, for his family grew is size and prosperity, as did the descendants of Daisy. The Wu family continued to care for goats for the next hundred years. From time to time a special goat was born that had the ability to change history. One such goat was Goatawar, a feisty two year old that Ezekiel Wu insisted on taking on maneuvers during World War One. During the intense battle of the Black Forest, Goatawar got loose and ended up behind German lines. Before he could be captured, Goatawar managed to eat 217 canisters of mustard gas and the epaulets off of Kaiser Wilhelm's uniform. The Kaiser was so unnerved by the goat attack that he agreed to the armistice one week later. Of course, all Wu family goats are prizewinners. Louis's mother, Toodle Wu, made a career of exhibiting Wu family goats and won many prestigious awards. Pictured here is Toodle's favorite, Dewlap, who won the most awards of any goat in history. Among the honors Dewlap garnered are: Communist Hating Goat of the Year 1950-1957 Sleekest Coat 1953, 1955-1957, 1963 Supple Hooves Special Mention 1952, 1955, 1960 Goat Most Likely to Appear on the Cover of The New Yorker 1956 Atomic Energy Commission's Goat of the Year 1957 Goat Most Feared by Indochina 1964 John Birch Society Goat of Distinction 1968 Into this goat loving family Louis Wu was born, and to this day he carries on the traditions of his forefathers. At an early age, Louis exhibited the calm spirit and stubborn demeanor that is the mark of an expert goat handler. Ultimately, Louis was not content to do things the same way his parents did. Louis planned to make goats easily available to the masses by putting a Vend-A-Goat machine in every mall and post office. Unfortunately, the Vend-A-Goat program was a failure when it was discovered that the vending bin in the machines was too small to properly vend a goat in one piece. Shaken from his entrepreneurial venture, Louis retreated from the business world and joined the Peace Corps. But even in the remotest jungles of Guatemala, Louis' love of goats could not be suppressed. As Crux Fidelis recalls on his spotlight on the Junkyard: Accomplishments / Achievements: I would have to say I am most proud of the good work I did in Guatemala from 1984 to 1994. Interestingly enough, this is where I met Louis Wu and his lovely wife-to-be. I remember fondly the time he and I spent together teaching local villagers to herd goats and farm. Louis also honored me by allowing me to join him and his fiance in holy matrimony. Good times, indeed. When Louis returned to the United States of America he was determined to try again to find a way to bring the wonders of goats to the people. Louis foresaw far in advance that a highly connected digital age would be coming and made plans accordingly. When the explosion of the internet occurred, Louis began boldly marketing Goat Porn. Louis will readily admit that his Goat Porn venture was a risky move. But his tireless efforts to bring Goat Porn to the masses paid off handsomely. If you are an internet user like me, you can hardly turn around without running into one of Louis' Goat Porn websites. In fact, it is the profits from Louis' Goat Porn empire that pay for the Halo.Bungie.Org web site! So next time you visit HBO, remember that it's Goat Porn that makes all this possible. Louis' oldest stud, Quicksilver, is ready to retire from the Goat Porn business and Louis is looking for a good home for him. But taking care of Quicksilver is no easy task and will be further complicated by his age. Quicksilver's coat must be brushed at least three times a day. He must be fed ten pounds of old tin cans every day. He expects poetry to be read to him every night - preferably Byron. Quicksilver's hooves, horns, and teeth have to be polished every day before he goes to sleep. He must be provided with adequate living space, including a jacuzzi. If you are interested in owning a retired Porn Goat and can agree to do all these things, then a member of the illustrious Wu family goats will be yours. Go to the forum at HBO and post a message. Goats in Dreams by mnemesis "Two hundred and eighty eight goats chew their cuds inconspicuously around the inside of post two hundred and ten thousand nine hundred and thirty. I say that they are inconspicuous because it is their cuds which demand my attention. I did this, or I could have stopped it. Which is it? It doesn't matter now. I did this and could have stopped it, but nothing in nature ever follows a gaussian curve. Sure, they'll tell you that it does. They say that every five minutes someone dies in a car accident, but how often are there two hundred and eighty eight goats in one forum post?" The Goat White Term UNSCTerm 802.11 (remote override) 2047 08.30.2337 [Data Transfer from Cortana] Host [39.59.19.21] [Transfer John117] [Error Unknown] [Transfer John117] [Error Unknown] [Interior Error] ***MESSAGE RECEIVED*** The goat had been floating six feet off the floor for three weeks. Her hooves tingled, and her eyes burned with the flames of a dying fire. She had last heard someone speak to her as the pen door slammed shut. She didn't remember what the farmer had said. The words had bounced off the bars of the pen and rang through the goat's ears. The goat had been talking to herself for the last few minutes, something about getting caught, but then her ears began to tingle just like her hooves. She looked at her hooves, but the fire in her eyes made her blink. Tears came, and when she opened her eyes again, her hooves had been melted into horny pancakes that wafted in the ripples flowing over the fire in her eyes. "Damn pen," she heard someone say. "Last time I had a good meal was three days ago. The food they feed you in here could kill a chicken." Chickens. She had remembered something about chickens. But her ears began to ring again and the voice speaking to her faded off into the background of her mind. In its place, there was a new sound, the clopping of hooves together. She blinked hard to made out her hooves again. They had disappeared; her limbs connected at the shanks. She thought back to the time she went digging for grubs. She remembered the sound of her hooves on the earth, a gentle scrapping. Scrapping away now inside her ears, trying to tear down her thoughts. There had been a goat with a white fur tube over his hooves. Her shanks were like his now. The shanks of someone who had tried too many times to clop her hooves. She had been clopping for everyone else in life, but never himself. The hooves, like herself, had been put into prison, and she didn't know why. "Can't sleep in here, if the smell of this musty straw doesn't make you sick, then the sound of the chickens clucking inside the walls will keep you up. You'll wake up from your dreams to their little pecking. Sometimes I think that they are clucking me..." The voice was coming from inside the pen, but the goat couldn't see anyone. The goat hadn't always been alone, she could vaguely recall from somewhere inside her broken mind that there had been friends, lovers, milkers. She recalled a theory she had come up with after a bloody barnyard brawl. The theory was simple. At some point in time, everyone was a milker. Whether or not they ever felt remorse, they had all wanted someone milked. Hatred. Everyone knew the feeling of hatred. The goat had known hatred on that barnyard. Her milker had laughed at their bloody faces, a laugh which now echoed through her ears, rhythmically blocking out the other voice in the pen. The barnyard was usually a place where the goat and her friends would play head-butt or eat-tin or something, but today, there was an edge. Maybe everyone had eaten grain that was about to go bad, or maybe there was too much smoke in the air from the bethany hubcap factory. Head-butt had been extremely rough. The goat had gone to play eat-tin after she got tackled by five goats who weren't her friends. But today, even eat-tin had an evil twist. The can top today had become habituated to making fun of the torn label. The goat had decided that it was an evil day. When her milker started to push her around, she exploded. Hatred flowed from her eyes, her hooves began to tingle. All of her coordination left her, and her teats were milked to a bloody mess. The farmer had been slow to notice the ensuing carnage, and he didn't really care anyway. The goat would have killed him if she could have. She would have torn out the eyes of her milker. She would have made him pay for his abuses. But her hooves had begun to tingle. She couldn't feel her hooves and she had begun to float off the ground. Everyone was a milker, but the goat couldn't remember her reason for why that was so. She thought it was something about hooves, the passion for justice. Her hooves and feet had begun to tingle, and she was floating farther off the floor. She looked up from her hooves, and she saw the bars of the pen, moving left and right, opening wide and then closing shut like the swinging of a barn door. Every time that she thought she would be safe, the bars swung up, the opening closing, the doors swinging, crashing. The result would be the same, she would never escape. The bars would crush her, break her back. She could feel the roughness of the straw under her hooves, for all the motion of the barn door around her, her hooves had come to rest serenely upon the barn floor. Her body tossed and flipped, pivoting about her hooves under which she could feel the safe, coarse straw. The doors crashed one final time, she landed upside down, her hooves thrown clear from the straw covered bottom, the rush of the windmill filling her ears, her nose, her mouth, the sound of crashing barn doors cascading down from her feet to her head - penetrating her mind to tear down thoughts. Like the straw nest she had built to withstand the cold, her thoughts came down around her. The goat had a good life, so much time, so much time. She had loved butting, turning, bleating. She had loved the tingle in her hooves, her inability to kill her nemesis. Once she had fallen off the loft, and just for a moment, her hooves came to rest on the rung of the ladder. In that instant, her body had frozen, floating over the barn floor, safe from falling, but the moment didn't last. The barn crashed about her, her hooves torn free from the straw covered bottom, her body flipping, falling. But now she levitated farther up, her hooves still tingling. She began to float through the bars, she expected the instant of safety as her hooves found footing, but that moment did not come, the bars squeezed her body. Her chest tingled. As she fell through her cage, her legs tingled. The fire in her eyes had become a cold wind, she blinked away tears. She tumbled through the bars, spinning and turning, she could see the farmer. In his hand she saw a small white chicken. A pounding, the crashing barn doors in her ears became rhythmical, hard. The man was beating the chicken against the floor. Pounding, pounding. Blood covered her hooves, the goat's hooves tingled. She had broken them on the floor of the pen. Disciplinarian, lover, milker. The goat looked back into the pen. She saw herself, disciplinarian, lover, milker. She had killed her nemesis. The chicken lay dead under her bloody hooves. At last, she stood on the throat of her milker. She escaped into the barn. The barn. ***END MESSAGE*** [Accept Next Message] [Reply Unknown] PgUp/PgDn/Arrows to Scroll Return/Enter to Acknowledge Charon's Goat by mnemesis UESCTerm 802.11 (remote override) 1841 02.08.2396 $"0000 0000 C000 0000 6000 0000 B000 000F" $"5C0F F03D A7FC 1FFB 5AD0 EFE7 AB48 2F0F" $"5584 BFFF 2A82 2FFE 1D28 17FC 06B0 1FF8" $"023C 2FF0 0302 1FE0 0100 1FE0 0100 1FE0" $"0100 1FE0 0100 1FE0 0301 0FE0 0201 BBE0" $"0301 D7C0 0280 3FC0 0202 3FC0 0221 BF80" $"0680 7F80 0414 1F80 0400 7F80 0C46 3F00" $"0809 3E00 1824 BE00 710A 3E00 C007 1E00" $"0000 0000 C000 0000 E000 0000 F000 000F" $"FC0F F03F FFFF FFFF FFFF FFFF FFFF FFFF" $"7FFF FFFF 3FFF FFFE 1FFF FFFC 07FF FFF8" $"03FF FFF0 03FF FFE0 01FF FFE0 01FF FFE0" $"01FF FFE0 01FF FFE0 03FF FFE0 03FF FFE0" $"03FF FFC0 03FF FFC0 03FF FFC0 03FF FF80" $"07FF FF80 07FF FF80 07FF FF80 0FFF FF00" $"0FFF FE00 1FFF FE00 7FFF FE00 FFFF FE00" ***END OF MESSAGE*** Quarantined Goats by Ghôlsbane Isn't chewing the cud getting a little bit boring? Get lost kid. Scram. Ciao. What are you looking for anyway? If you're looking for a hidden stash of goat's milk that was left here by the Wu insurgents eighty nine years ago, then I know that you shouldn't look in the HBO Forum. Who would hide huge amounts of lactic fluid on a message board? *** << Since you have nothing better to do than hang out here withme, listen to a tune that I've been working on>> (Sung to the tune of Whirling Death Wu's "Big White Horns, and Wild Cheddar") Lou-lou-lou-lou-is-Wu. Lou-lou-lou-lou-is-Wu. He ain't no slouch, foo. He'll make you frighten, Or hate, Like Dewlap did baby: Goat Porn love, Big white horns, Ringworld skies, And Wild Cheddar. Lou-lou-lou-lou-is-Wu. Lou-lou-lou-lou-is-Wu. He ain't no slouch, foo. Lou-lou-lou-lou-is-Wu. Lou-lou-lou-lou-is-Wu. He'll milk your pouch, 'Roo. He's got real guile, Why Lady, Did you have it daily? Wild Goat Love, No Milk Bubbles, Churned Stomach. Lou-lou-lou-lou-is-Wu. Lou-lou-lou-lou-is-Wu. He ain't no slouch, foo. (Repeat Chorus 11 Times, changing key with each chorus) Get lost, before I get annoyed and ram you back in the Vend-a-Goat! 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