It’s Christmas and we’re really ramping up our Christmas-based focus. Such as today’s human female whom, can you believe?! Her useless SOB husband went and got her a bloody pet goat! And it’s not even Christmas yet!

The madness of that aside, the reality is this wife now has a pet goat (Richard) to deal with. Richard isn’t well behaved and it appears, in apocalyptic fashion, he may derail the whole of their family Christmas.

When a Goat Sets Out to Destroy Xmas

Dear agony aunt,

It’s not even Christmas but my no good SOB of a husband, Mark, went out and bought me… a goat.

A goat.

I don’t want a goat. I don’t like goats. I’ve never expressed any sort of interest in having a pet goat (or having any sort of pet at all). I have no idea why he thought getting me this “gift” would be a good idea (or a “goat idea” as he punned about it). I’m flabbergasted and left questioning his sanity.

He turned up with this beat over the weekend and introduced it at breakfast.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK, BABE!?” He roared as he ripped the box off the top of the goat. The goat stared at me and then bleated once in a really harsh, droning, pealing way. I joined the goat by screaming at maximum volume, such was my shock at having to stare at this thing.

I am 24 years old. Why the HELL would I want a pet goat!?

My husband said, “It’ll do you good, Emma, and get you ready for when we have kids!” He beamed at me. I screamed back at him something about how a goat compares to a child and how that’s a false equivalence (at least I think that’s correct) and threw my bowl of porridge and pumpkin seed breakfast at him. The bowl smashed on the floor. The goat went straight to the food and started chomping it down.

I wanted to return the goat to the farm he’d got it from, but my husband said he’d divorce me if I did that… the SOB! So I’m stuck with the goat, whom my boyfriend has called Eric Cantona. I had to Google whom Eric Cantona is and I really couldn’t understand why he’d name the beast after a tennis player.

It makes no goddamn sense. None of it does! Why not a fluffy hamster or something!? After a few days living with this monstrosity all manner of things have occurred. Erica Cantona:

• Ate all my flowers that I’d arranged in lovely vases
• Rammed my husband in the testicles
• Smashed the front door to bits
• Chewed a hole through MY BRAND NEW SOFA!!!
• Drank repeatedly from the toilet bowl
• Urinated all over the living room carpet
• Brayed all day and night long

In short, Eric Cantona is an annoyance. Not a goat.

How do I get rid of it?

Yours,

Gwendoline

Hi there, Gwen! I’m afraid once you adopt a goat, the beast is for life (not just for Christmas). That means you’re stuck with it due to a mutually binding contract (or goatract as they’re known in the industry).

Whilst this may not be the news you want to hear, the harsh reality of Christmas is that everyone gets presents they hate. We mean, do you think the goat wants to live with you tossers? Exactly. It’d rather be out on the great plains of England, chewing grass, braying, and headbutting random hikers. Exactly like Eric Cantona did in January 1995 at Selhurst Park. Oi oi!

Oi oi!