He didn't want to kill the goose that lays

He didn't want to kill the goose that lays the golden eggs, but, well, it was Christmas.

He swung the heavy axe and missed. "Don't quit your day-job," said his younger sister, Vera. The golden egg-laying goose scampered away from Will and the chopping block.

Unfortunately it put it's head in Vera's garrote and she had one more thing to hold over me. We found a little nook to cook the golden egg-laying goose. Vera allowed me both wings

and a whole thing of bleu cheese dipping sauce to myself, and I was set. I could dip those bones in there and lick that cheese then ask for a refill. Buffalo Wild Wings kept 'em

slipped into his room, grabbed his mattress up in her teeth, tossed him roughly to the floor. "That's for me and the girls," the cow told him as he awoke, whimpering. She passed

her cud up through her snout & blew the undigested forage onto his startled face, “Keep your mitts off our teats!” Then, for good measure, before heading back to pasture, the cow

tipped him over and dropped a load of smoking hot dung on him. "Have a great day. I mean mooooo," the cow said and rejoined the bull, Ferdinand, in the pasture. "I hate cow pies,"

he said to the cow. “Haven’t you any other pies?” he asked. “Pumpkin? Apple? Cherry? These cow pies are just…SHIT!” “That’s right,” said Ferdinand, “cow pies are made of cow shit."

Nonetheless, the next day Ferdinand's cow pie won the top prize at the State Fair.