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VICE Guide to Austin

Battle of the Barnyard Fools

Recently these two South Austin yard critters raised a shitstorm of controversy with local authorities. Things got so bad between the gringo owner of the pig and the Mexican owner of the goat that lines were drawn and blows were exchanged.

Recently these two South Austin yard critters raised a shitstorm of controversy with local authorities. Things got so bad between the gringo owner of the pig and the Mexican owner of the goat that lines were drawn and blows were exchanged—over mirrored glass, of course. This shaky, drug-fueled truce is the only thing preventing a potential reenactment of the Alamo on W. Mary Street. Here is the tale from the Anglo’s perspective:

My light-in-the-loafers buddy Richard radioed my Nextel to say my potbellied pig, Starr, was currently on television with the headline “Goat Must Go and So Must the Pig.” He explained that Nik down the street was somehow responsible. Nik is a goat. I soon discovered that Joel the drunken Mexican washing-machine repairman, Nik’s owner, had ratted Starr out. He was in hot water because some PETAphile had turned him in for inhumane treatment (of a goat!), thinking cabrito was on Joel’s mind. So what did the Mexican do? He named names.

As a result of all this stink, Starr was forced to move into this hastily made doggy Dachau in its owner’s backyard.

When I called him to ask what was up, he went into a tirade about how City Animal Control was racist, and how they singled him out because he’s Mexican and the city hates Mexicans. I told him, I’m a honky, and thanks to your pathetic buck-passing the city now hates beast-owning white people as well. The city told us both to get rid of our animals within 30 days. No more kid-ding around.  Look, goats stink and are dumb. The only good they serve is when they’ve been slathered with a nice yogurt marinade after rotating over hot coals. And though Starr wouldn’t mourn for a minute if I died tomorrow, her smell is neutral and she’s smart. Plus, in a pinch, 24 hours spent in a Hawaiian-style BBQ pit would make for a nice family picnic.  A well-directed magnum of Chardonnay got the animals officially pardoned at the last minute by the mayor of Austin—a sty of execution, just in the Nik of time. Thankfully, greasing palms is still an accepted way of doing biz in Texas, though a bribe of white wine indicates the sad direction in which Austin has stumbled as of late.  If you’re curious for a look-see, head south on Congress Avenue, take a right at Fran’s Hamburgers, and keep your eyes peeled for Nik on your left and Starr a few blocks farther up on the right in the fenced yard of a splintered old Victorian home.