Whip Me, Beat Me, Get Me Drunk and Milk Me Like a Goat

I’m in trouble with God’s people again.

You might recall that I was politely asked to step down as a Sunday school teacher because my writing is offensive, and truthfully, “we can’t let you wrangle 22 first graders on Sundays anymore” were the most glorious words ever spoken, in a church or otherwise. I thought the storm might have died down somewhat, but no. I received a very confusing and one-sided voicemail concerning my contribution to the last church fellowship dinner.

I swear to you, it was just a cheese wedge and some really frou-frou crackers. No, the cheese wasn’t molded into a penis shape and the crackers weren’t spelling out cuss words, but if you’ve been reading this blog for any length of time I can see how you might think that. It was just a plain, ordinary plate of Triscuits and cheese. It happened to be Drunken Goat cheese, which I thought was a great thing to bring considering it’s imported all the way from Tennessee and costs as much per pound as an actual goat.

See, I know what you’re already thinking. You’re already slapping your forehead and screaming at your computer monitor, “Why, Lorca?! Why would you bring a food item with the word ‘drunken’ in the name of it TO YOUR CHURCH?!” Because that’s totally where my brain went when I got the voicemail, butย  no, alcohol wasn’t even the issue.

According to the would-be gossiper, a sweet older lady in our congregation wasn’t aware that goats could be milked. She must have missed every single day of biology class, because milk is kind of one of the precursors to being considered a mammal. She also must have missed health class where they talked about how much alcohol gets expressed in breast milk (human breast milk…I never took goat health) AND she missed driver’s ed where they talked about how long alcohol stays in the body.

If this voicemail is any indication, the poor kindly woman is somehow under the impression from the name of my cheese that you can’t milk a goat and make this cheese unless you get the goat drunk first. And that the whole process is kinda sexual and gets posted on YouTube by a leering bystander with a cellphone.

Yup. Unless the goat is drunk. There’s no goat milk for the goat cheese unless the goat is actually drunk.

And this is my fault?

Keep reading, I will stop finding this hilarious in a second. I promise.

Farmers all across the country are liquoring up their goats before pulling on their little goat teats, all so I can ruin a great church dinner. With my sin cheese. Drunken animal sin cheese. And I’m here to tell you THAT THE GOAT WAS TOTALLY INTO THAT KIND OF THING. She was practically begging for it.

Nope, still hilarious, still can’t type.

Okay, I’m better now. Basically, the lesson I’ve learned here is that no matter what I do, someone’s gonna bitch about it. It might be writing smutty pseudo-porn, or it might be slipping a mickey finn to a barnyard animal with the express purpose of molesting it for my dinner. Either way, I’m doing my utmost to bring down the sanctity of religion, just by showing up.

31 thoughts on “Whip Me, Beat Me, Get Me Drunk and Milk Me Like a Goat

  1. I’m jealous that they kicked you out of teaching Sunday school. When I realized it wasn’t for me, I had to quit. Would probably make me more friends to bring a drunk goat cheese to a dinner. (But it’s the midwest, where nobody says anything unpleasant to anyone, so it’s really not any different when nobody likes me than when they did.)

  2. I have no words for how wrong all of this is. Next, we’ll be having Exotic Sin Cheese. Idiots will be getting lions, or giraffes drunk and milking them, for illicit sin cheese. But it will be Exotic! They will try to milk kangaroos and be kicked to death! Oh, the humanity!

  3. Too funny, yes, I have been dismissed before. My daughter answered the door once and proceeded to tell the Sunday school super that her momma couldn’t come to the door because, “she got drunk last night and is still throwing up”.

  4. Where in the world have you been hiding? Or maybe I don’t get out much. You had me laughing and shaking me head form the get go.
    Whip me, Beat me, Get me drunk and Milk me like a Goat! Too funny.

  5. I’m not religious, but I love church suppers. And was REALLY pisses off church ladies of any denomination (but Baptists the most, since cooking and eating are the only vices they’re allowed) is when a known heathen is so much better a cook than they are. Little lapsed Methodist me took a big pan of baked ziti to the last church supper at my ex’s church — and tossed out the empty pan before we left. Everybody else had leftovers. Not me. And it was noticed — boy, was it noticed. If I’d known that I was going to get such “curse you to Hell” stares, I would have dressed the part — grass skirt, topless, with a bone through my nose…

  6. OMG … how have I been missing your blog! Other than recommending you convert to Episcopal (my gay priest and his husband bring artisan cheese selections for snacks) I cannot add anything to the glory and wonder of SIN CHEESE.

    • I totally want my own goat now because I have to mass market sin cheese. It sells itself! And honey, I’m in Alabama. The home of “confirmed bachelors,” not out-of-the-closet human beings! You can’t wear a strong perfume without someone accusing you of being a drunk!

  7. Probably a blessing in disguise you brought Triscuits to this shindig and not some kind of “hearty” crackers, you would surely been accused of slaughtering some barnyard animal to get them!

  8. Most people (of the religious kind) never cease to bring a chuckle our two out of me. In this case tons! I say, let her keep believing the goat had to be drunk! And some advice to you, STOP POKING A STICK AT THE NATIVES (I sort of feel sorry for them)!

  9. OMG I needed that laugh. I have tears streaming down my face. I’d ask ‘Are people really that stupid?’ but I’m just going to stop myself halfway through that sentence.

  10. Too funny. Drunken animal sin cheese. If you keep doing your “utmost to bring down the sanctity of religion”…I’ll keep reading! Thanks for making me laugh (and shake my head) and laugh some more.

  11. I love Drunken Goat Cheese! Here is what they say at Dean & Deluca (I just had to google it): “No, the goats weren’t drunk. This all natural, semi-soft cheese from Spain’s Murcia region gets its name from a process in which the cheesemakers immerse it in the local Doble Pasta wine for three days before aging it for 75 days. The result is a deep violet rind and a cheese with a rich, creamy texture and a mild yet tangy flavor. A dramatic addition to any cheese plate. “

  12. Well I can under stand the woman’s confusion. It does say right on the label that the goat was drunk! Was it really good goat cheese? Where did you get it? I have no problems with tippling goats.

  13. Hahahaha! This is just too funny! As a farmer, I can’t tell you how many hours I spend not able to write because I’m too busy getting barnyard animals wasted!

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