Today’s guest post comes from the netherworld of Danules, rhymes with Hercules, well okay it doesn’t, but you get the idea:
Let me tell you about the time I invested in a race horse. I had some stock money lying around that I wasn’t sure what to do with. The stock market was fluctuating, real estate was in a slump, and this friend of mine said he could bring me in on a once in a lifetime opportunity to buy a race horse descended from the very best bloodlines. It seemed a little risky, but after some careful contemplation over a large bottle of rum, we decided to go for it. He really was a beautiful horse. He even looked fast. We named him CrazyLegs the Three Footed Wonder Horse. He really had four hooves, not three feet, because generally speaking horses don’t have feet; we just liked the name. It had a certain ring to it. Anyway, we found CrazyLegs the Three Footed Wonder Horse a great jockey and the best trainer available, and we got him whipped into shape, so to speak. In no time, he was blazing down that practice track like a Ferrari. Eventually the time finally came for his very first race. He came in fourth, which wasn’t too bad. We got a ribbon for that one, but no money. The next few races he came in second or third, but we still had high hopes for his winning one until about the tenth race. CrazyLegs the Three Footed Wonder Horse always ran a good race, but he just didn’t seem to have what it took to win. He still placed second or third, just missing by a nose. We had some ribbons and trophies, and every now and then CrazyLegs the Three Footed Wonder horse would get his name in the paper, but he wasn’t generating any revenue. We were starting to get a little worried about our investment. After his fifteenth race, which he lost by a nose of course, my partner and I went out to a bar to help sooth our losses. Normally I’m not a real alcoholic kind of a person, but I guess we both had a few too many that evening. We were sitting at the bar complaining about our predicament, and we just happened to be overheard by a guy in a booth who just happened to be a plastic surgeon, and happened to be even more intoxicated than we were, because he concocted this plan as a joke. But as the river of alcohol continued flowing rather mightily that night, our plan started to become less of a joke and more of a mission inspired by some unquestionable higher power. Anyway, about two in the morning, we led CrazyLegs the Three Footed Wonder Horse into a freight elevator at the Bowling Green Medical Center, rode him up to the fifth floor, and led him down a long hallway to the Doctor’s office. And to make a long story short, which I guess is a useless gesture at this point, from then on CrazyLegs the Three Footed Wonder Horse won every single race he ever ran by a nose. Even if the other horses were faster it didn’t matter, because when they got a glimpse of CrazyLegs the Three Footed Wonder Horse’s eighteen inch nose extension, they veered off the track. After that, the racing commission passed a bill which outlawed any type of cosmetic surgery on race horses, so that CrazyLegs the Three Footed Wonder Horse wasn’t allowed to race anymore. But my partner and I did manage to sell him to a traveling circus that didn’t have enough money in the budget for an elephant. The bearded lady fell in love with him and vowed to look out for him as long as he lived, so everything worked out okay in the end.
