The plan is simple. Plant Robo-Putin in office, and use him to start a major international incident. Blood shall be spread in His dark name, and everyone who opposes then willebe crushed beneath their hooves.

And if these files were anything to go on… Robo-Putin may not be far off from the plans of… Obsolete-Putin.

Oh yes, there will be blood…

Oh yes. The White House would be perfect. The perfect color contrast for the bright red color of blood. That goat with the hand looked ready to kill anyone in its path. Onwards. Onwards to the big White House. There he could feast upon the flesh of the humans. He could not be stopped.

Dr. Tee trotted along behind the goat with a hand. There would be blood.

Getting to the White House is proving harder than Moonbeam anticipated. He still hasn’t got full control of the hand, and his legs are getting tired.

He makes it to the side of a great big road. But where’s the White House? What he needs is someone to take him there. What he needs to do is hitch a ride.

He sticks out a hoof.

Moonbeam sits by the road for hours, but no one stops.

He can’t think why.

Bert observed the goats trotting past, somehow aware of their destination. He reviewed the situation; should he follow the path to the White House, or see whats happening in Russia? He snorted and pawed at the ground while he mulled it over.

The White House sounded the most promising but, and perhaps this was his recent hit of wood-varnish talking, but he felt that a far more promising endeavour would be to organise an impromptu rock concert to distract the humans while those goats ahead got in to the White House.

The more he pondered it, the more it made sense - a huge gig on the grass outside, with naturally Bert taking the centre stage and singing some awesome goatmetal number!
He trotted after the goats heading towards the White House, plotting in his head.

Jerry Goatcia doesn’t want to see any bloodshed and would rather be playing with the band. While other goats trot off to a possibly bloody destiny, he joins Bert in looking for a good spot to stage a concert.

Today, I feel like pleasing you

More than before

Today, goats know what goats want to do

But goats don’t know what for

To be living for you

Is all goats want to do

To be loving you

It’ll all be there

When goats’ dreams come true

Today, you’ll make me say

That I somehow have changed

Today, you’ll look into my eyes

I’m just not the same

To be any more than all I am

Would be a lie

I’m so full of love

I could burst apart

And start to cry

Moonbeam has given up trying to hitch and is on the road out of town. Other goats are following him, which is kind of weird.

He feels beholden to these fellow travellers. If he can’t find the White House he’ll have let them down.

And then there it is. Big. White. Domed. Heavily secured. With several massive chimneys belching smoke.

Moonbeam can’t read, but the sign says:

NUCLEAR POWER STATION AND ATOMIC RESEARCH TESTING FACILITY

The goats line up behind him.

They’re in luck.

It’s “Bring your ungulate to work day” and they’re passed straight in.

Dr. Tee, despite his goat-ly smarts, cannot read, and thus misses the important sign in front of the giant white dome. However, he possesses enough goat-ly smarts to conclude that this massive white building is, indeed, the correct white house. Whiteness? Check. Largeness? Check. Maximum security? Check. Moonbeam seems to have the right idea.

Dr. Tee follows Moonbeam in. And, oh. It is more glorious than he could have imagined.

While a couple of the goats head inside, Bert stares in awe at the building before him. Its truly magnificent, but more importantly it’ll make a glorious backdrop to “Goatstock ‘14”!

He turns to Jerrry Goatcia, hearing his beautiful lyrical ode to goatness and feels a deep ache in his heart. Its a familiar ache to Bert, one that often needs filled with his old friend “wood varnish”, but one he cannot easily satisfy… theres no freshly painted fence posts around!

Bert begins to panic but with a steely resolve manages to contain himself and starts dragging any loose items he can find to construct a make-shift stage, inspired by Jerrry Goatcia’s song.

Progress is surprisingly quick and its not long before a serviceable stage is erected directly in the entrance to the white house, blocking access in and out of the building. As Bert admires his handy work, he notes a small red square by the door that looks important.

“Perhaps this is a wood varnish dispensing button?” Bert mused. He reared up on his hind legs and butted the button as hard as he could, setting off a loud ear-piercing fire alarm.

“Magnificent! The perfect backing track for Goatstock!” Bert stared wide-eyed at the stage as he started to hear sounds in the distance of humans moving, probably getting ready to come to the concert no doubt.

Taking another step back, Bert wobbled uncertainly as the urge to lick some varnish grew stronger, burning deep in his chest. He casts his eyes around frantically, begging reality to lend him a hoof and direct him to some varnish. The other goats could warm up the stage, he had to get his fix!

Philosophogoat had found the other goats again. After disorientedly wandering through the city he had made new friends. With their unruly, unkempt multi-colored hair and dirty layers of clothing they looked a little bit like two legged goats, and more important, they smelled like it! The two leggers had followed the other goats in a certain distance, making food appear for Philosophogoat, as the Hobos plundered stores abandoned by their owners in terror. He concluded that they valued his wisdom which he baw-ed out at them in irregular intervals. In truth of course they simply weren’t sure yet if the weidly colored partly shaved goat would be more useful for increasing their chances at begging or as a nice roast.

Philosophogoat and his band of Hobos reached the reactor, where a large pile of broken furniture and trash had been made into a stage by Jerry Goatcia and Bert.

His two legged friends seem to like the general atmosphere and soon get to work on adding more little “stages” and making cozy small fires in littler bins. Philosophogoat is impressed. If only he could have thumbs, too! Oh well. He will content himself with going backstage and revelling joyously with Jerry Goatcia, whose music he values greatly.

Philosophogoat wiggles through the barricade, but his sense of direction fails him once more and thus he finds himself in the reactor. He trots along the corridors. In a peaceful corner of a interesting looking room with lots of bright flashing lights and a window he decides it is time to think some more. After all, thought is what sets them apart from the two leggers!

Philosophogoat jumps onto a console and makes his bed there. A panel is -probably for maintenance - lifted, so the wiry interior is unprotected.

Oh, this looks a bit like grass! Philosophogoat thinks, looking at several wires sticking up. He takes a hearthy mouthful and starts to revel joyously.

Sirens start blarin as the door controls, formerly sealing the reactor core, stop working and the large doors glide open…

Things are far from peaceful around Moonbeam. He can’t imagine how the President could possibly run the country with all this din.

His respect for the Man rises a little from its admittedly profound depths.

But the sirens are making his head hurt. Perhaps meditation will help?

Moonbeam trots along behind Someone Who Looks Important, concentrating all his attention on the severed hand.

At last the fingers begin to move at his volition!

Jerry Goatcia is mightily impressed with the stage-making skills of Bert, although he finds the sirens distracting and painfully loud.

Seems like whenever I think I’m ahead

I’m further behind where I started instead

But now I know that problems got to be solved

But each one brings me down till it’s resolved

My problems got problems, I can’t explain

Pass me the wheat straw, I will try it again

(Problems, problems)

You can see why it takes most of my time

To sort through confusion and uncloud my mind

My problems got problems, if you understand

It’s like being caught in a sea of quick sand

My problems got problems, I can’t explain

Pass me the wheat straw, I will try it again

(Problems, problems)

A stage, these goats have built, a stage! O joy!

The sight of varnished boards sends a deep thrill

Throughout the furry body of Shakesgoat.

His hooves long only to take up a pen

And write great poetry for all goatkind!

He hunts around this building for a pen

And finds one, all unguarded, ‘pon a desk.

He takes its plastic length between his teeth

And delicately holds it whilst he thinks.

At last a burst of poetry comes forth

And flows from eager pen onto a page.

He reads his words back over in triumph

And rushes with his new play to the stage!

Jerry Goatcia reads the first page, nods and smiles at William Shakesgoat.

The highway wrapped around me like a python in the night

The moon howled at the ocean like some spirit lost in flight

Bruised and battered stars denounced the gallows of the sky

Like a pack of bandit angels strung up helplessly to die

My head was full of nothing but the pounding of the surf

And whirling kind of slowly like the spinning of the earth

Everything I lived for seemed played out like a joke

The all-night revelations and the poetry we spoke

This is the end of the road

Got no further passions to unload

Nothing left to do except explode

Here at the end of the road

The kisses of the sun were sweet, I didn’t even blink

Just let it pour into my eyes like some exotic drink

Cutting through the sand I saw the railing of a track

Leading on into forever with no hope of turning back

Amy had been following Michgoat, and sees him stop by the tent. Folllowing him into the area, she sees and hears so much, it’s completely disorienting. Starting to feel sick, she tries to get out of there.

Well the first days are the hardest days, don’t you worry any more

Cause when life looks like easy street, there is danger at your door

Think this through with me, let me know your mind

Woah, what I want to know is, are you kind?

It’s a goat dancer’s choice my friend, better take my advice

You know all the rules by now, and the fire from the ice

Will you come with me, won’t you come with me?

Woah, what I want to know, will you come with me?

God damn, I declare, have you seen the like?

Their walls are built of cannon balls

Their motto is “don’t tread on me”

Come hear Uncle John’s Band, playing to the tide

Come with me or go alone

He’s come to take his children home

It’s the same story the crow told me, it’s the only one he knows

Like the morning sun you come and like the wind you go

Ain’t no time to hate, barely time to wait

Woah, what I want to know, where does the time go?

I live in a silver mine and I call it beggar’s tomb

I got me a violin and I beg you call the tune

Anybody’s choice, I can hear your voice

Woah, what I want to know, how does the song go?

Come hear Uncle John’s Band, by the river side

Got some things to talk about, here beside the rising tide

Come hear Uncle John’s Band, playing to the tide

Come with me or go alone

He’s come to take his children home

Woah, what I want to know, how does the song go?

Come hear Uncle John’s Band, by the river side

Got some things to talk about, here beside the rising tide

Jerry Goatcia segues seamlessly into his next number:

Long distance runner, what you standing there for?

Get up, get off, get out of the door!

You’re playing cold music on the reactor floor,

Drowned in your laughter and dead to the core.

There’s a dragon with matches that’s loose on the town.

Take a whole pail of water just to cool him down.

Fire, fire on the mountain

Fire, fire on the mountain

Fire, fire on the mountain

Fire, fire on the mountain

Almost ablaze, still you don’t feel the heat.

It takes all you got just to stay on the beat.

You say it’s a living, we all gotta eat.

But you’re here alone, there’s no one to compete.

If mercy’s in business, I wish it for you,

More than just ashes when your dreams come true.

Fire, fire on the mountain

Fire, fire on the mountain

Fire, fire on the mountain

Fire, fire on the mountain

Moonbeam’s drunk with power.

He presses all the buttons.

Philosophogoat is dismayed at the cacophony. He could deal with the sirens, a good thinker could think under almost all circumstances. That is, after all, what set him apart from the other goats. But this was too much.

Being not able to think clearly with all the noise he is suddenly hit by inspiration. Robo-Putin can help! But how to contact him? Philosophogoat tries dialing Putin’s office (“666” he thinks, after all Lucy Fur had called that her number) with a cell phone left behind by a panicked scientist, but instead of pushing the buttons he just crushes it under his hooves. Mh, interesting! This looks edible! Philosophogoat crunches happily on the plastic parts, a slight bleeerp sometimes emerging from the dying phone as he wanders down the corridors to find someone who can help.

Far away from the chaos and blaring noise in the city, Michgoat Cera had stumbled drunkinly through the fair grounds. Some of the humans mistook him for a petting zoo goat and patted his clothed head, causing him to drift left and right as they giggled at the silly teenage goat. He decided it was time to get away from the crowds and crept along behind the booths until he found a nice cushion to sit on. In front of the cushion was a little table with a glimmering orb resting in the middle.

“Are you Madame Fortune?” a couple with collectively poor eyesight asked.

Michgoat looked up, shaking the purple wraps away from his eyes, and baeed “uh, yeah, I mean, sure” at the youthful lovers.

“Oh totally cool!” one of them exclaimed, “I wanna see my future!”

The girl-like non-goat and the boy-like non-goat, sat down opposite to Michgoat and waited for their future to be foretold. Michgoat blinked. He saw the glimmer in their eyes, the disgustingly giggly love, the zits hidden behind pancaked cosmetics. He began to chuckle as he stared intently into the crystal ball before him. The chuckle grew stronger with every passing moment. Ha ha. The teenagers glanced at each-other in hopeful confusion. Hahahahahahahaha.

Michgoat’s power flowed into the glass orb. Light swirled inside the ball and glimmered in his rectangular pupils and on the faces of the couple who stared in shock. HA HA. The robes fell off of Michgoat, exposing his goatness, but the children could not look away. The orb rose off the table. Another ha ha floated towards the sphere, but this time, it did not come from the lips of Michgoat. The teenagers cheeks sunk. Their eyes grew heavy and their hair began to grey. Streams of light flowed, escaped from their lips in the form of laughter, into the orb, and back into the gaping maw of Michgoat Cera.

Eternal youth would be obtained…for now.

Went to see Madam Mary to get my fortune told

Went to see Madam Mary to get my no good fortune told

There was no man in my future, but lots of silver and gold

I told Madam Mary I won’t pay money for that

Listen Madam Mary, you take that fortune back

No sign of love in my future, I won’t pay good money for that

It was a long cold summer, followed by a long hot fall

It was a long cold summer, followed by a long hot fall

It must be spring now judging by the falling leaves and all

The thumping beat of the concert and the blaring evacuation sirens skewer Moonbeam’s brain.

He scampers headlong through corridor after corridor, howling at the two-legs who are crushed at the exits, beating their pink fists on the blast doors.

Something shudders and reality trips. Beta particles pierce Moonbeam’s mind, and suddenly there’s a phone bleeping at his feet, and Moonbeam’s in the phone, and the waves go on. He’s speeding down a heavenly highway.

It’s, like, Route 666, man.

Moonbeam’s in the system, he’s everywhere and nowhere.

In the Kremlin they trace the disturbance to an atomic research facility in the United States, and as Moonbeam’s ghostly grin lights up their screens, they go to Red Alert.

It’s time to notify Putin.