The goat-city of Medellin was an architectural marvel, the jewel of the Alps.
One morning, a trader arrived at the city gates, his cart laden with wares. The scheming trader knew of the goats’ legendary fondness for fine clothing, not as raiment but as dietary fibre. Accordingly, he had poisoned his entire inventory, thinking not only to grow rich through honest commerce, but also acquisitive of much valuable and newly-vacated real estate.
But he had reckoned without societal change. For the youth of Medellin now followed a deity which held that clothing was not for consumption, but for the concealment of hirsute goaty nakedness; and thus it was that much of the trader’s toxic freight remained undigested, and was instead worn and washed, and thus rendered harmless.
Inevitably, a fair few of the city’s older billies and nannies were stuck in the old ways, and enough perished in suspicious fabric-related circumstances that it became obvious the trader’s shipment of clothing was to blame. The trader was accordingly arrested, his capture witnessed with considerable interest by several representatives of the younger generation, themselves clad in the very outfits with which he had hoped to engineer their demise. The young goats stood and watched as they raised their front hooves in obeisance towards their deity. As the trader was led away, he was heard to raise his voice in complaint to those he held responsible for his capture, “I would’ve gotten away with it, if it weren’t for you Medellin kids and your god!”
It may be of comfort to some people — not least my publisher and my editor — that the above work of fiction is not destined to appear in the upcoming Difficult Second Album. It may be puzzling to other people as to why I have titled this post ‘Crossing the Streams’. The explanation which I will offer — and it may appear, on first pass, to be inadequate, though I assure you it is not — is that I, personally, have never played a character of the name of Jonas Sulk.
If there is a circle of hell set aside for paronomasiacs, then I suspect I may well be in serious trouble. Particularly if whoever’s in charge of it isn’t too fond of cutesy pop-culture references.