Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Tag: horse

Sometimes Cops Ride On Their Horses

horse cops citifield

“What the hell is that smell?”

“Pot. And, you know, since we’re in Queens: lamb being roasted.”

“It’s the kebabbiest borough.”

“It’s some hippie band.”

“This isn’t a Met game?”

“Do people look happy or sad?”

“Happy.”

“Then it isn’t a Met game, is it?”

“Your sarcasm makes the shift go by so quickly, and I appreciate it.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re sunshine on a cloudy day. How long we out here for, anyway?”

“Until a riot doesn’t happen.”

“Cuz my back’s killing me. This fat fuck is gonna break my spine.”

“He’s blowing up, yeah.”

“Asshole on top of you has the decency to be skinny.”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed. Still gonna bite his arm down to the bone one day, but I’ll feel guilty.”

“Will you?”

“No, but I’m gonna say that I do.”

“You spend all day sitting on another creature and maybe you hit the gym every once in a while.”

“It’s a partnership.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

Horse, Sense

Seaworld will close soon; they’re rearranging the walruses on the Titanic, but the end is coming and I think the next thing animal activists ruin for everyone should be horseracing. Fuck everything about it: the shady equine eugenics in the stables, and the sybarites with too much money in the boxes, and the bulimic pygmies with their custom-made puke basin in the locker rooms (look it up), and the degenerate gamblers in the stands, and all the women in hats.

(Also: fuck the horses, but that’s a personal thing and we all know it. TotD firmly believes that horses are nightbeasts loosed from Hell, and that they have chompy chompers and stompy stompers. I do not deny that it’s a phobia, but it’s one I’m okay with. Actually, I consider myself lucky in the phobia realm: some people have fears that destroy their lives, but I just stay away from petting zoos and rodeos and things are copacetic.)

Racetracks have contributed nothing to mankind except a few classic movie scenes, and this is a long-time problem. The crowd at the Circus Maximus was the same as the crowd at Santa Ana, but they were yelling at horses in Latin. The lawlessness extends into the paddocks (or stalls or kennels or whatever you call a horse’s dressing room) and these super-charged brutes with their giant ass-muscles and tiny leg-stalks are jammed full of painkillers and speed and steroids and diuretics

(Speaking of which: happy birthday, Billy.)

What argument can be made for this so-called sport’s continued existence in 2016? Bullfighting is inhumane, because the bulls die in front of everyone; horse racing is fine, because the horses die in private, but also sometimes right on the track. I actually did some research: this 2012 New York Times article spells it out better than I can, but there’s a number I’ll share with you: 1000/2. For every thousand starts, there are two dead horses.

If you applied that number to the NFL, 3.4 players would die every single week. And, you know: eventually one of the dead guys is going to be a quarterback, and the nation would have to mourn.

To add insult to lethal injury, the horse’s performance doesn’t matter: what matters is whether you correctly foretold the winner. The animals are necessary but not the point. They are dice, or cards, or shirtless homophobes punching one another: just an excuse for a bet. Horse racing isn’t really about the horses, so why not get rid of them?

Allow me to suggest some alternatives.

  • Make the jockeys fight each other.
  • (Wait, hold on: that’s bullshit. That’s a bullshit joke. My whole point is based on consent–animals can’t give consent, so therefore their participation in your bullshit is cruelty–and to deny the jockeys agency makes me a hypocrite and undermines my argument. I apologize.)
  • Let the jockeys fight each other.
  • What if the jockeys rode very large people?
  • In a piggy-back configuration, I suppose.
  • Instead of riding horses around the track, what if the jockeys drove cars? (Is this already a thing? I think this is a pretty good idea. Also, instead of jockeys driving the cars, it should be Lillian Monster.)
  • Maybe you could go one day without making a bet, you goddamned degenerate?
  • Replace the track with a large room filled with many varieties of gambling options, and free drinks, and ugly carpeting.
  • I would allow horse-related wagering if it were limited to the rural fair game where they chalk out a numbered grid in a field and you bet on which square the animal will poop in; usually, the pooper is a cow, but a horse would probably work.

The Horse’s Name Was Snorter

Mickey used to give his horse acid. He would dose his horse and his dog and they would trek around his ranch for hours while Mickey pretended he was the Jewish cowboy hero, the Lone Kvetcher. Mickey said that he was careful to figure out the horse’s body weight so he could calculate the proper dose.

THE PROPER DOSE OF LSD FOR A HORSE IS NONE, MICKEY. EVERYONE KNOWS THAT. That’s some Michael Vick-type shit right there.

(Please don’t take this as coming from a man with a fondness for horses. Horses are like giant, creepy aliens and they are scary dumb and I openly advocate a cull of the pointless beasts. We could turn it into a holiday: Pull the Trigger Day. Anyone who wanted to could bring a gun, or rent one, or just use a fungo bat, whatever, and at the stroke of three Eastern Standard Time, everybody makes all the terrifying horses go away.

Now, I feel this way about remarkably many species: there is a bird outside, around 16 inches tall. Grey body, white head. Long, tapering beak pointed straight down at his belly. (His? Why not ‘hers’? THESE BLOGGINGS ARE SEXIST TOWARDS BIRDS.)  He also has the posture of Richard Nixon: shoulders up and in, head thrust forward, saying horrible things about the Jews. I like that bird a lot. He can stay. As for the rest of the animals: exterminate the brutes.

And yet, I also know that I might in fact be a complete psychopath on this issue. Probably not: I cannot see a logical or ethical problem with a massacre on the scale of such that it would almost certainly summon Chthulu, or at the very least, Chthu-Lou, who was not quite an Old God, more of a God Who’s Not A Kid Anymore, Let’s Face It, but he looked like the Big C and so would do parties and such.

What I do object to is Fucking With Animals. Getting them high, fighting them, doing sex stuff on them, pure-breeding them, dressing them up in Star Wars costumes: for Christ’s sake, hasn’t anyone heard of dignity?