When I was quite a bit younger, a man once told me never to date a girl who rode horses, saying that a shifting saddle sets an impossibly high standard of, *cough* manliness that I could never hope to match. I used to think that was what caused me to hate horses, but I recently found out that I was mistaken. I hate horses because they are unquestionably evil, not to mention stupid looking. (A body that big on legs that fragile? More evidence for evolution, unless God just quit caring after he realized he could make
this)
Anyway, I was crashing at a house my friend was house-sitting, playing poker online, watching the World Cup on the big screen, and working my way through free microwave dinners, blackberry yogurt, beer and Jager-bombs (a couple deep at the moment, a few more deep later) when I made the second bad decision of the day (the first was reraising some douche with 7-7 out of position). Since it was the responsibility of my buddy to feed the horses, I decided that I would try to do him a solid by taking care of this while he was at work. The first hint that this was a bad decision came when I walked out of the house towards the barn and both horses looked something like this-
-with the exception that I'm pretty sure one was breathing fire through his yellow/green Julia Roberts' (i.e. horse teeth) and the other was thinking about kicking me in the crotch, most likely with the intent of widening the gap of lady-pleasing that existed between us.
However, with the exception of listening to rap music, and the engineering program at GCC, I haven't quit anything in my life, and I wasn't going to start now. So I walked outside and in to the barn, grabbed a few carrots, and walked back outside. The actual feeding was relatively uneventful, so I decided to cut back to the house through the actual horse pasture, making the third (and most costly) mistake of the day. The horses, sensing an opportunity to spread death and destruction (the fact that they are harbingers of the apocolypse is NOT coincidental), started to chase me across the pasture at a slow walk, realizing that a trot or canter would most likely cause me to run and jump the fence, ruining their evil plans. I suspected that evil was afoot, but I fought the urge to kick them both in the knees and break their legs, since I can't afford to replace them, and because I'm opposed to hurting animals physically, although I will verbally harass them from time to time. Anyway, the horses started battering me with their lumpy, disproportioned heads in an attempt to get at the carrots which no longer existed in my pockets, creating a scene eerily similar to Jurassic Park.
I raised my hands to protect myself, and the horses, thinking I was seconds away from casting a light ball of purity a la Gandalf in
The Return of the King, freaked out and raised up on two legs, most likely in an attempt to stomp me with their hooves of evil. I also freaked out, screamed, and ran across the pasture, hurdling chunks of horse poop and wishing there were children present that I could push in front of the horses to slow them down. There weren't, but I promised God that if he let me out alive, I'd write a blog post chronicling the evil of horses and warning the rest of you. So, since I'm still alive, here you go.