Getting Your Goat
Even though Seattle now officially allows miniature goats to be kept as pets, our host had to travel all the way to Vashon to buy a whole goat to roast. I arrive just in time to see it come off the spit. Partyers have been drinking from the keg of Dos Equis all afternoon, so everyone's drunkenly enjoying the butchery.
Both the hind legs get handed around and everyone bites from a communal leg. It's tough meat, but expertly rubbed with spices, so it's not unlike good Greek lamb. "Tastes like dog," someone says. "Does anyone want a kidney?" shouts the man doing the carving. A curious vegetarian starts squeezing the kidney like a stress ball. "Does anyone want the potato we had to shove up the goat's ass to keep him from leaking?" asks the carver. There are no takers.
Meanwhile, the host has a quandary: This party's a big success, so what animal should he roast next? A baby deer? A sea turtle? "You can't roast a turtle!" says a woman. Someone points out that she took charge of cooking the goat. "Well, goats are okay to cook," she says. "Everyone knows that goats are assholes."
This marks my last Party Crasher—I've moved to Constant Reader, a new column in the books section. As of the next issue, the talented Jeff Kirby will be our Party Crasher. It's been an amazing two-and-a-half-year run, and my thanks go to the thousands of people who made me feel at home every week. I owe you all a beer.
Want to help haze the new Party Crasher? E-mail the date, place, time, and party details to firstname.lastname@example.org