Jonjoli

 John Jolie was pretty pickled. As he carefully navigated one more sip of beer to his lips, he reflected on what all had transpired that day - no, week - that had led him to this particular besotted condition.

"It all started Tuesday," he spoke to no one. "It was that fucking goat."

He was referring to a goat that had locked eyes with him on - you guessed it - Tuesday. By 'locked eyes with' I mean looked in his direction. Goats, with their rectangular pupils and approximately 320 degrees of vision, don't really 'lock eyes' with anyone. Regardless, the goat had pointed its head in Joh's direction and promptly died. It was a whole thing.

Shocked by this development, John had made his way to the farmhouse where he presumed the goat's owner lived. He'd knocked on the door and - having waited a few minutes - began writing a not on a scrap of paper mentioning the goat's demise. At the precise moment he reached out to wedge the note between the door and door jamb, the door opened.

"What's all this about?" a sweaty and red faced farmer confronted John.

"Your goat just passed?" John said, handing the man the note.

"You reading my mail?" the farmer accused.

"No, no, I was writing you a note when I thought maybe you weren't home."

"How'd you get my address?" the farmer demanded.

"I don't know your address?" John stammered. At that moment another man joined the farmer.

"What's all this about?" demanded the new man.

"He was spying on us!" answered the farmer.

"I wasn't spying - I was merely trying to let you know that the goat that lives over there has died and I wasn't responsible," is what John would have said had the second man not punched him in the face.

Now, John was no slouch - he struck the man back, which is why he is now facing charges for assaulting an officer. The scuffle that ensued was that of sweaty men in late middle age. At certain points in appeared to be a similar sight to the 'wrestling match' that the farmer and officer had been engaged in before John showed up, albeit with more clothes involved. At some point, a candle tipped over. The guilty party was gravity, or romance, or an eager farmer who was not particularly careful when he set it in a holder. The fire was enough to distract the lovers and allow John to escape the beating. Unfortunately, it added one count of arson to John's warrant.

Now, I don't want to imply John was unlucky - far from it! While posters went up around town for a goat-killing, police-fighting, house-burning menace to society, the details that might link John himself to these crimes were skant. The hulking, foreign, peeping tom described by the aggrieved parties was a far cry from the mild, medium build man hiding in the corner of dingy bar. It was the latest place hhe'd been able to slink into aftter seeing his "wanted by police" notice posted around town. While he was all eyes and ears, afraid of who might be looking for him, the locals were more conerned with their day-to-day lives.

"What a time to be alive," John mused, once again to nobody. He was right  it was a pretty intereting time to be alive.

Sucks for that goat, though!