We apologize: we have not covered the Favre goat story in the two whole days it has existed on the Internet. This is due both to our collective Favre fatigue and the inability of our resident goat-bondage expert PUNTE to weigh in on the subject.  There are some pending criminal charges in South Carolina that keep him from sharing his expertise.

Anyway, it seems like only yesterday we were still talking about the woman who was traveling to Minneapolis with a live purple- and gold-painted goat with the number 4 shaved into its sides tied down in her trunk, with the apparent intent to sacrifice it near Brett Favre’s preseason debut on Friday.

However, as we all know, the goat was saved by fortuitous car trouble and the altruistic mechanics at Tires Plus in Winona, Minnesota — a tough blow for the subset of society that believes in a Chicago Cubs-like curse on the Vikings and also enjoys a good goat sacrifice.  Moreover, the would-be blood offering to the football gods has been named Brett and is now living in Packers country, at the very same Favre-lovin’ farm that chose to make a Brett Favre corn maze last year instead of planting crops. (Native Americans call it “maize”) — it’s a small world when everyone’s insane about the same washed-up, self-centered quarterback.  We can only guess that Brett the Goat will live happily on the farm for several months before he un-retires and ends up tied down in another car’s trunk.  The first step to curing addiction is admitting you have a problem.

As we sift through the untidy aftermath of news stories dedicated to A FREAKING GOAT TIED UP IN A TRUNK JUST BECAUSE IT HAS SOMETHING TO DO WITH FAVRE, perhaps the greatest development in this was MyFox New York’s decision to segue this story into a sport that dates back to 13th century Afghanistan.  Because it involves goats, you see:

Goats also play a major role in Afghanistan’s national sport — Buzkashi. Translated into English, Buzkashi means “goat grabbing” or “goat killing.”

Not to be confused with the Irish national sport, Boozekakke.

And finally, no Internet story is complete without mention of fainting goats.  They’re the Tarvaris Jackson of sacrificial goats!

Oh hello. I’m Jesus of Nazareth. Son of God. Bringer of Light. Emissary of His will on Earth. And I’d like just to say that Brett Favre deserves to eat shit and burn in Hell.

Oh, you want to unretire now, shitdick? Well, I say TOUGH TITTY. Two thousand years ago, I was forced to choose between being a mortal man and being the son of God. And I had to make that choice while I was nailed to a fucking cross with crows snacking on my eyelids. Did I hem and haw like a little bitch? FUCK AND NO. I bit the bullet and went for Door number 2. Am I happy with my choice? Good God, no. I chose being the son of God because being a mortal man in 33 A.Me sucked. Everyone smelled. The food was awful. I slept on HAY, for shit’s sake.

But do you see me getting all whiny about the path I chose? No. Know why? CAUSE I’M A FUCKIN MAN.

So you wanna play for the Vikings now, asshole? Well, Daddy already picked a Chosen One on their squad. So get bent. If you do manage to go turn that team into a goddamn soap opera, I got a radical new throw for you. It’s called a pitch-out. Give the ball to that fucker in the backfield who can run through an ice floe.

Otherwise, you can suck my holy balls.