Frank the Goat (frank) wrote,
Frank the Goat
frank

Oh, my hooves, my aching, aching hooves. The life of a last-minute reindeer substitute is hard, let me tell you. I can't give away any of the trade secrets on how Santa manages to make deliveries to all those houses in such a short time, because I had to sign a non-disclosure agreement, but let me just say that it's a LOT harder than it looks on those animated holiday specials on TV.

We had a great night, though, and we got a LOT done, and thank you to everyone who left out pants for me to munch on! (They were really, really good. Especially this pair of superwashed denim that I found in an apartment just outside of Cleveland. Except I don't think I was supposed to eat those, so, uh, if any of you guys got a pair of gift pants with a bite out of the rear, I'm sorry...)

And then I got home and found that for the first night of Hanukkah -- we goats are nondenominational, you know, and we celebrate most human holidays and a whole bunch of our own -- someone had given me the best gift ever: a pair of hoof slippers ... with built-in massagers. So I am kicking back in the goathouse, with my four vibrating slippers on my poor aching hooves and a glass of eggnog, and I will see you all again after the New Year!

(PS: Enjoy the icon of me eating Santa's pants. I kind of got in trouble for it, but at least I waited until we were back at the Pole to take a bite.)
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