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, but  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.