Every time it rains, it may never stop

There was a little goat out there on the hill, wearing lederhosen and a Swiss-looking hat, sitting on a rocking-chair and smoking a pipe.

When the rain got too heavy to continue on, I rushed to him and asked if I could stand under that porch roof with him a little bit before it calmed down. Hospitality is the way of the goat.

"Of course," he said, "every time it rains, you have to wonder if maybe this will be the time it starts raining and never stops. If that's the case, this porch may not be good for too long."

"What then?" I asked, "head for the mountains?"

The goat made a gruff noise as he stroked his beard. "You've got opposable thumbs and a big brain," he said, "why don't you whip us up some SCUBA gear or genetically implanted gills or something, tool-use boy?"

I was going to protest, since he was holding a pipe and talking and owning a porch and all, but I stopped myself. After all, he was nice enough to let me stay under that porch roof with him, and I didn't want to be an ingrate. So I whipped up some gills or something, and made some extras.

Anyone want some?