Evil Goat

ELVIS IS ALIVE
& REINCARNATED AS A BABY-EATING GOAT FREAK!

What he has to say will shock you!

EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW with the MAN, the MYTH…

THE GOAT!!

For every one cynic out there, there are ten believers. I used to be in that minority of clear-sighted rational people that derided conclusions from empirical evidence, rather than having faith in the fantastic for fear of the oblivion that the truth holds for us all. Recently, however, I had opportunity to observe a phenomenon so completely absurd that my own sanity has been called into question. I have been scoffed at by peers, turned on by friends, and referred to treatment facilities by skeptical family members. I have been lumped into that category of sad, poor wretches that see Elvis making crop circles, or buying a Slurpee at a 7-11. Perhaps my claim here is even more dubious and probably ludicrous to most. I can not blame those who do not believe what they are about to read. At times I even questioned my own sanity, and after seeing my mother’s tears when I insisted on pursuing this matter, have even considered taking one of the many fine pills I’ve been prescribed for my alleged mental ailment. But I am not a lunatic, nor am I a huckster or con artist. This is not akin to the Piltdown Man hoax, nor yet another Bigfoot sighting. It is strange to me that people who have faith in more far-fetched things, who swear to the veracity of events that happened 2000 years ago by which they gain witness not even second or third-hand, but through centuries of re-writes, translations, and indoctrination, cannot afford me a moment’s suspension of disbelief. I can only assume that the process of belief for most people is adherence to majority rule, rather than a careful consideration of evidence before them. Indeed, the majority will view me as a flake: an inconsequential dissident on the fringe of reality. To accept my claims means to re-structure what you know, and for most, that is just too much to ask... And for that, I cannot blame them.

It started about 8 months ago. I received a call from a friend of mine who worked for the humane society in Medina. He said that they had taken in a goat that had attacked a pregnant woman, and they were going to terminate it that evening. He thought I’d get a kick out the wild story, especially knowing my interest in cloven-hoofed creatures. I drove down there immediately, and what I saw changed me forever. The sneering goat had been beaten up pretty badly in the tussle with the animal control officers, but even then he had a certain glow that drew me to him. As I stared into those eyes I could see a spark, a sort of glimmer of intelligence that I could not explain. I convinced my friend to allow me a few moments alone with the goat. Naturally, he took it as a very strange, perhaps even a perverse request, but he obliged, having little concern for the condemned goat’s chastity. It was not sexual motivations that induced me towards a one-on-one conference with this magnificent creature, however. Instead, we just stared at each other, contemplating each other‘s countenance. I paced in a circle around the beast, and his fiery eyes followed mine with an eerie adroitness. I sensed a vague intelligence behind those glossy eyes. Then it happened; he spoke. Maybe it wasn’t English, or any known language at all, but I understood perfectly. Don’t ask me how or why, but it was an utterance I will never forget. I swore he said, with a calmness that belied the urgency of the plea, ”help me, Ben…help me.” I thought I was hallucinating, that I’d finally done it, skidded through the guardrails of sanity. I was dumbfounded and speechless. I grabbed the choker on the goat’s neck and dragged it to my car and sped away. What else could I have done? My friend did end up calling several times to see if I had the missing goat, as he surely knew, but I was certain that he wouldn’t notify the police. Indeed, he was a good friend.

The goat was mine now, and I was going to learn how it was able to speak to me. For the next several months I kept it chained in my basement, a prisoner to my scientific scrutiny. By countless hours of training myself to pick out the subtle intonations in his bleats and groans, I have been able to communicate with the goat rather effectively. My conversations have not only led me to 100% conviction that this was indeed Elvis reincarnated, but also led me towards hope in an afterlife after years of doubt and emptiness. The invaluable insights I’ve gained from my several conversations with this goat are now able to be shared with the public. About a month ago, before I released him back into the wild, I convinced him to sit down and have a chat with me for the record. I told him that the whole thing would likely be discounted as a laughable hoax, and yet he was undeterred. He knew this perhaps even better than I, for I was surely not the first to speak with him since his transference into a goat body. For him, as I took it, it was indeed time to formally come out in the open with his story. While most mainstream press has refused to run this interview, I am driven to publish it anywhere that will have it. And if it only touches a few people and changes their lives, I am just proud that I was the one there to act as the intermediary to spread the good news. As you read this interview, I have bracketed the meanings of his utterances next to the best transcriptions I could manage of the sounds he produced, just to give you a feel for the conversation as it actually transpired. - Ben

BEN: So Elvis, what evil doings had you committed in the last life that led karma to remake you into an infanticidal goat creature? For what horrendous sins against humanity are you now being punished?

ELVIS: M-a-a-a-a-ah. Ma-ma-muh-ma-a-a-a-a-ah-ah-ahh! [I recorded several lame-ass gospel albums, and it was me on the grassy knoll.]

BEN: I know goats will eat just about anything, even tin cans, but what’s with this insane craving you seem to have for babies?

ELVIS: Mah, Ma-Maaaah. Mah, ma-a-a-ah-ah-muh-muh, Maaaaaaaaaah! Maaaah ma muh, mama ma-a-a-a-a-ahh. [They are delicious once you get past the horror of it all. No different than eating veal, really. You do savor the taste of infant cow flesh, don‘t you?]

BEN: Do you have any young’ns of your own?

ELVIS: Mah-ah-ah-ah-ahhhhhhh. [Yes, I am raising them to one day perform on Broadway in an all-goat rendition of King Lear, which is in my opinion, the greatest of Shakespeare’s tragedies.]

BEN: How do you feel about the war on terrorism?

ELVIS: Mwah-ah-ahh! [sobbing] Mwah-ah-ahh!

BEN: What about the rumors of your involvement in the Enron scandal? Kenneth Lay allegedly gave you documents to ingest, did he not?

ELVIS: Ma-ma-a-a-ah. [No comment.]

BEN: So what was it like for you to discover Lisa Marie had married Michael Jackson?

ELVIS: Ma-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-ahh! M**H, M**A!!! M$@A-MA-A-AH!!! [I was very happy for my beloved daughter once I got over the initial shock. If they had blemished my legacy with a child, however, I would have chewed apart their genitals.]

BEN: In the collective psyche, goats often represent Satan and the feral longings that still reside within the human animal, no matter how much we deny them. Do you think this iconography of the goat image relates closely to your self-image as a four-legged baby-eating goat?

ELVIS: Ma-a-a-a-h, mamamama-a-a-a-a-aa—ah. [Of course, and I think in this incarnation I can finally purge this evil from my eternal soul… or at least get some kicks. You see, karma is not simply about doing “good” things for fear of the “bad” things being revisited upon you, but rather about fulfilling the role you are born into and keeping order in the world. I was born a demented goat, and I have to act in accordance with that. We all have the same passions, same instincts and desires, but it is our role that dictates what we should or shouldn’t do. Fortunately, as a goat this time around, I do not have to deny myself a single pleasure. I don't have to worry about being honest, admirable, or compassionate, all of which are a reall buzz kill. In fact, it is my duty to nurture depravity and to maintain congruence with the popular conception of the evil goat. If I don't, the world might implode.

BEN: Of all creatures, why is the goat one of the most evil?

ELVIS: Ma-a-a….mahhh, ma-a-a-a-a-a-ah. [Goats have beards, and beards are of course evil. I was loved in one life, and now I am hated and feared.]

BEN: Is there anything you won’t do as a wicked goat freak?

ELVIS: Ma-a-a-ah. Mah. Mah,mama-a-a-ah. [I won’t do any reunion tours or car commercials.]

BEN: What do you have to say to your enduring fans, many of whom doubt that you have died at all?

ELVIS: Mah, mah, Ma-a-a-a-a-a-ah. [I am touched at their refusal to accept my passing, yet I urge them to find conspiracy where it does in fact exist, and not in the complete falsehoods of my “faked” death. There are things more important to take note of and labor over. You should know, for instance, that aliens are controlling us. They do it through language, which is the underlying infrastructure of our thoughts. As a goat I no longer need conventional language, and have, to an extent, escaped their grasp. As humans, though, you can use drugs to help you to avoid the alien vernacular that you’ve come to accept as your own, and therefore break the hold these extra-terrestrial masters have over our minds. AIDS was invented by the government (under alien mandate) to destroy drug-smuggling bisexual flight attendants, and in so doing, keep you all under their oppressive thumb. I shot Kennedy because he commissioned this research. The war on drugs is a war to keep you within a paradigm crafted for exploitation; to keep you blind to the fact that you are being steered into eternal slavery. As a goat now I understand that humans are the lowest forms of life, though I suspect “low” and “high” are relative terms depending on what your current incarnation may be. (I am much more for animal rights than I used to be. Viva Las Cabras!) These very words, like all words, are the work of aliens trying to confuse us within limited subjectivities, a virus of false selfhood. At some point in the past, I was you. We all mirror some aspect of each other…
But to hell with it. Worship me if you please. I am your bestial overlord. I am the child’s first dream of death. Heed me, for I am goat.

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