On Schadenfreude

 

When I were a lad, we used to keep chickens. One Easter they hatched a brood of chicks – all little yellow fluffy things, and one black one, who was immediately and clearly the runt.

I went to feed the chicks one day, and replinished their water. They raced towards the plastic dish that served as their bowl, squeaking and bleeping with delight, and the black one was – for the first time in his life – at the head of the pack.

As he got to the bowl in his excitement he stamped his big flat foot on the edge of the dish, thus spanging himself as hard as possible right in the face and destroying their water supply.

About the author of this post

The Goatman – due to the usual experiments going wrong &c &c, The Goatman is  an internationally-available gentleman of letters, raconteur and wit. His amorous conquests are myriad, his taste in whisky of renown, and his ability to look comfortable in extreme situations is of significant scientific study. He has been known to conspire with Vagabond Images.

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