Who is the man behind TheSnivelingGoat.com?

R.E. Brown. Mad prince clown, violent coward and conspirator, forever doomed to stick the proverbial fork into life’s toaster and forever reanimated to repeat the same mistake. His charm is his poison and his mouth is huge and he says he “loves life.” Who is there to doubt him?

Robert lives. A different animal, he is a beast of love and sallow meandering bewilderment. You can spot him easy enough, knee deep in the heavy breath of beautiful stringy haired strippers, hung over and stunned by the amazing sights their lost, shuttering eyes have allowed them. In them he seeks God, unwavering in his commitment to the platinum and gem blue tragedy their dry ice perfume exudes. He is there, smiling, and he doesn’t know why. He is a candy striped rag doll spirit guide with the potency of a retired priest’s cock. He senses genius in the ape semen and feral dog feces he sees on your skin when he stares at you. He senses stern urgency under the haze of the oil stained air he breathes and in the scents of milky sweet incense wafting out of the doors of the grifting tarot readers who cat call promises as he walks by. His confusion is sincere with the joy and passion of a befuddled freshly found lover or the wide-eyed gaze of a placenta wrinkled newborn child.

His goal is to have what ever you have. Only because he needs something.

He can not make distinctions and believes everything he says at the moment he says it.

Robert wants to be rich, only because he fears the judgments of the poor.

Robert can eat the bones of his ancestors.

Robert can punish his enemies.

Robert can see your weakness, and he can choose to ignore it.

His foot is always in his mouth and he can not defend himself.

Robert can fight the urge to charm you and fights the urge to scare you.

Robert is an ever-vigilant unknown artist on a mission. A living angel of God beautiful in the light of day and savage under the cloaking knowledge of night. He was spawned from eggshells and vinegar in a delightful ceremony conducted by lesser castaway gods and rabid black hogs. From there his existence continued. He is forever sealed by the reoccurring restraints of a dead cherub’s failure and a self-abusive taste for Bad Judgment brand whiskey… And still he exists.

Past cattle cars of naked retarded children prancing on all fours with non-refundable Old Milwaukee tall boy beer bottles shoved up their asses, braying like donkeys. He exists. Past deformed leper midgets shooting smack into their castrated cocks while waiting in line to jump into a shit dripping sewer hole. He exists. Past a dozen obese denture chomping housewives washing off a thick coat of dead ants in a golden shower raining down from a snout-smiling sow the size of a cement mixer truck. He exists. Past a crouched balding middle aged certified accountant with ten years of 4-k pension and pants dropped, grunting wildly from the thrusts of a giant ferret bending him over entering from behind. And still he exists. Past a giant praying mantis the color purple smoking an Arturo Fuente rubusto cigar menacingly chattering, snapping its arms repeatedly while the sounds of wrecking ambulances screech bloody death in the distance. And yet, still he exists. Once he thought he heard a child crying and he violently convulsed for a minute. Once he thought he heard a witch from his fruit cellar cackle and he felt an erection grow. Once he thought he felt a bone tuff finger run through his scab and greasy hair and he giggled like a little girl. He resides in his skin cell, a room damp with grey stone chipped mosaics of screaming clowns smiling. His brain is a chamber filled with dust and no answers, a place abandoned long ago, long since pulled out with a Stalingrad retreat. Clearly his mind is not the place to loiter. He sits for hours drooling nostril flaring with his tongue hanging. He entertains himself in daydreams filled with lobotomist’s perversions and feeds himself on masturbation and sweat. And yet he exists.

And out of his void he gives. He gives it all. Simply for your pleasure.