One day, many centuries ago, an evil goat died. This goat was not allowed into heaven and so had to spend the rest of its life scaring the children of the town he was a ghost in because now he was a ghost!
One day, the goatst came across a lizard in a lunch box. ‘Pardon me,’ said the lizard, ‘but are you a goat or a ghost?’
‘I am both. I am a goatst.’
‘Don’t you mean a ghoast?’
‘I don’t know,’ said the goatst, ‘because there’s not exactly a precedent here.’
‘Don’t you, mean precedence?’ asked the increasingly annoying lizard.
‘Hey, who are you, the president of precedence?’ snapped the increasingly annoyed goatst.
‘Ooh, I like what you did there!’ said the lizard.
‘Shuddup,’ said the goatst, ‘or I will start a new precedent of beating the snot out of you.’
Then the goatst toddled along, until he met a snake.
‘Hi, I’m like the lizard,’ said the snake, ‘only I have less legs and I smell like Barry Manilow’s auntie.’
‘Not interested,’ said goatst, and he hopped along the path.
Next he met a newt. ‘Hi, I’m a newt,’ said the newt. ‘I’m sort of like the lizard and the snake, but I’m…well I don’t know exactly what I am, but I have heard of me existing in books and such. Perhaps I am amphibious? I dunno.’
‘Well, whatever you are, you are cute and I shall take you home and nail you to my door.’
‘Wait! What? Why?’ shrieked the newt.
‘Well,’ explained goatst, ‘the angel of death is coming, and if I nail you to my door it will pass over my house.’
‘Uh, that’s lamb’s blood, not a newt. And you don’t need a nail, just a brush.’
So the goatst went home and painted his door with said lamb’s blood, and the angel of death did indeed passeth over his house and so did a parrot.
Bless you, bless you for reading my story.
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