Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Eyes Only

Aside from the Eton and Cambridge educations; the taste for top-of-the-line smokes and booze; the harem perpetually stocked with phenomenonally beautiful, exotic women with geographically ambiguous foreign accents; and the license to kill - the only thing that seperates James Bond from the average Joe are all of those wonderful toys.

Roger Moore, the Assistant Director of Development at Top Secret Inventions You Haven't Heard Of, is in charge of making those hi-tech miracles of engineering available for Everman's everyday need. Watch him as he comes up with such revolutionary concepts as the Force Field for Stopping Ventriloquist Dummies and the Espionage-proof Trash Can.

We'd Like to Buy Jackson Pollock Another Drink

In Prague you can pick up a pint of Pilsner Urquell for like a quarter, which basically makes it your duty to post-communist Eastern European economics to drink as much as you possibly can on any given evening. We realize this will probably get a bit repetative for some, but Matt and Jer have remedied this potential side effect by infusing a little art into this endeavor.

Check out the Czech duo's barroom drawings over at Drunkendrawings.

Monday, January 30, 2006

It's Monday

And we've got nothing.

Friday, January 27, 2006

Things to do this Weekend

We might as well finish off the week on this cold streak and remind you all that the Winter Olympics are fast approaching, which means the world's financial movers and shakers will once again be getting together to broker a few deals while their sons and daughters compete for metallic tokens of athletic supremecy. Unlike most human beings, we don't get our jollies from ice skating or skiing or the luge. We demand a real sport: curling. Sure, other sports may require "skill" or "talent," but the only thing curling demands is alcoholic tolerance, and we're fairly confident that there isn't a curling foursome on the planet that can match us pint for pint. Gird your loins for combat this weekend with a few drinks and a stop on over to Curling, The Curling News; and for all you neophytes The Curling 101 Log.

All Hail the Glass-cutting Nipples of Ninavut





Sue Richards lives in Ontario and runs The Breast Views. Women will likely find this site quite informative. Men will be thoroughly disappointed. Chronologists might want to pick up a copy of the Breast of Canada Calender.

Antarctica Blogs: Vol. 1

When Jess the Intern isn't dutifully fulfilling her chores around the office she's usually lamenting the fact that Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy is but a fictional character. Whatever spare time she has after that is usually devoted to pining for the promising career she give up as paleo-climatologist on the frozen shores of Antarctica to tend our stables. In honor of her great sacrifice we've agreed to direct all three of our readers to every Antarctican blogger that we come across. Now you too can find out if the great Southern Continent is as dark, unforgivingly frigid, and merciless as your own ruthless and cruel heart. Enjoy!

The Life of Brian & Stephanie's Antarctic Update

Yahweh or the Highway, Bitch!

So there's this kid, Brian Thompson. Brian's a bit retentive. In fact, Brian's wound pretty tightly. Alright, let's be honest here, Brian's anus is in imminent danger of implosion. Exhibit A is his blog Brian's Mumblings. Exhibit B is his other blog Thoughts of a Wandering Papist. Anyway, Brian's a student at the University of Washington, and when he got back to school this semester he took a look at the syllabus of one of his classes and noticed something strange:

"Wednesday, January 04, 2006

Irony

So my Comparative Religion class (Intro Judaism) has its final on March 17th, a friday evening. Does anyone see the issue there. The professor and half the class are jews, they can't work (including taking a test on Jewish History and Theology) on the sabbath. So I'm hoping we can get it resceduled for earlier. But that is just SO ironic, they could have given us any timeslot and we get the ONE that the class can't do."

We're willing to give the kid the benefit of the doubt here - it's an Intro class, he probably doesn't know that the Sabbath actually starts at sundown, and he's not exactly forthcoming about what time the test is scheduled for, so there might not be any conflict to worry about - but check out the post's comments:

"anonymous said...
Stinking Jews!

just kidding...Mom
8:40 AM, January 06, 2006

brian said...
Oh mother...

11:22 AM, January 06, 2006"

Mom?!? What the fuck is this all about? Sorry if we're a little skeptical, but it's a bit hard for us to believe that Mom's "just kidding" here. How exactly is this comment relevant - to say nothing of humorous? We're all old here at The Horse - our eyesight just isn't what it used to be - so by all means let us know if this little exchange is (a.) indicative of deep-seated hatred of the Hebrew, (b.) sketchy at best, (c.) naively inappropriate, or if (d.) we just can't see "mock" anti-Semitism like we used to.

J'Accuse!

In case anyone has either noticed or is curious or gives a flying fuck to begin with, we have added The Accuser to our list of links. Please consult it for vitriolic harangues on all matters heretical and blasphemous.

And if you're interested in having a link to your web site/blog/shameless self-promotional gimmick just drop us a line via e-mail or leave a comment on any post. We'd be happy to accomodate you. Our standards are low.

You Can Judge a Book by its Cover

Big ups to the Crack Emcee at the Macho Response for scooping the shit out of the conventional media's promotional blitzkrieg. Last Friday Mr. Emcee reviewed Norah Vincent's book "Self-Made Man" (see last Saturday's post below) and since then the book was featured on the cover of the New York Times Book Review and in Newsweek, while the author was a guest on The Colbert Report and - to the best of our knowledge - Late Night with Conan O'Brien.

This can only mean one of two things: Mr. Emcee is a prophetic luminary or he is in league with Ms. Vincent's publicist. Whatever the racket, we refer our readers to Book Covers from the NY Times Book Review in his honor.

Thursday, January 26, 2006

There's Nothing Like a Dame


Bomb the Krauts in style: Northstar Gallery's WWII War Bird Nose Art and Velesco Enterprises.

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

From the Mouths of Babes

Katrina VandenBerg seems like a great gal. We mean a genuinely good, salt-of-the-Earth, upstanding citizen who wills no evil on anyone. She's from Canada, for Christ's sake! And not just Canada, small town Canada (Winchester, Ontario). She grew up on a dairy farm, no less! She wants to be a school teacher. Her blog is filled with with pictures from her church's youth group retreat - young kids, full of life, enjoying good clean wholesome fun. It's got poems devoted to her faith; the occassional quote from the Bible; and warm, sincerely felt well-wishes to relatives on the birth of their child. It's just a shame she didn't Goggle the name of her blog before she christened it. Check it out at Pearl Necklace.

Taxi Cab Confessions

Photo blogs are not all that hard to find. Good photo blogs are hard to find. Good photo blogs that actually have a lot of photos are really hard to find. NYC Taxi Shots is fine by us.

We are Officially the Greatest of All Time


We've only been online now for just about a day under a week and we've already gotten our 1000th hit. This could be some sort of international internet record. We'd check this out, but we've had far too much to drink already to celebrate. Props us.

Turning a New Leaf

News from our friends to the north at the beautiful (and, alas, married) Adrienne Jackson's blog:

"Tuesday, January 03, 2006

saskatoon new year's baby

oh my.

saskatoon's new year's baby was named tron.

i kid you not.

oh my, indeed."

The Good, the Bad, and the...

Sister Nancy Beth Eczema (you read that right) is a West Hollywood nun who's sick of the decadance and decline of modern American culture - and she's out to do something about it. The Edicts of Nancy isn't so much a conevtional blog as it is a line in the sand dividing the "prayer warriors" of this world from the "whores of heresy." Sister Exzema is just doing the world a tremendous service by singling out the unfortunate souls who aren't going to make it to the Rapture (or should we say, will still be around after the Rapture? Take your pick), because in a complicated world such as ours sometimes the bad guys don't always wear black.
As Horsemen of the Apocalyse, we salute Nancy. Keeping a list of those unworthy of the Kingdom of Heaven will only make our job of smiting the wicked easier when the time comes - and thus allows us to cut our training and preparation for the Big Day short every afternoon to hit the bar.

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

It Ain't Sir Mix-a-Lot, But It Will Have To Do

This little excerpt comes from one of the better named blogs we've found of late - I Am Prepared to Give Up at Any Time:

"Folks, maybe it's just that I'm more of a breast man than an ass man, but I am unable to do anything other than laugh at the word 'JUICY' written across someone's butt cheeks. I'm not exactly sure what kind of juice comes out of an ass, but I'm pretty sure it's unappealing. I could see it saying, 'ROUND or 'FIRM' or if they have to go with a culinary metaphor, maybe 'SWEET' or 'MEATY,' but any images of the ass as a juice dispenser are met with nothing but derision."

And now, please allow us to continue to date ourselves: We refer the blogging defeatist to the 1994 Rusty Cundieff masterpiece Fear of a Black Hat, which addresses just your concerns with the song "Booty Juice." Here's a sample:

"Booty juice comes right from the source
Whats the source an ass of curse
The kind that spreads out extra wide
The kind that's nice when you come inside.
It's fresh an meaty all pasturized
But I always rise when I tap the thighs
'Cause I like'm big , I like'm greasy
I like'm round and I like'm easy
I like'm when the girls steps on the floor
Shake'n them booties just like a ho
I like it when it shakes in the pants so loose
but I love it when it's drippin -- that booty juice"

Full lyrics here.

Monday, January 23, 2006

The Girls from Ipanema

With the absolutely absurd volume of scantily clad, gorgeous Brazilian women strewn across the internet, the folks here at The Horse took the initiative one weekend to learn Portuguese by watching City of God over and over again in the vain hope that we could learn the only other Iberian language we didn’t fail in high school. We didn’t get fluent, but we did develop a rather strong urge to prosecute a ruthless gang war with an aim toward narco-trafficing supremecy.

So we can’t be exactly certain just what the hell is going on over at Os Homens são todos iguias. Hell, we’re not even sure if it’s Portuguese, but we do know that the site’s contributors – Maia, Hugo, and Luis – have a thing for pictures of attractive women experiencing car trouble. We hope this is just some weird cultural thing alien to our sensibilities, and not the evolving MO of a team of automotive inspired stalkers.

Extreme Jesus

When Jesus was doing his thing in Galilie he preached the value of poverty and the need to minister not only to the poor, but also to the vilest sinners infesting the Holy Land: criminals, prositutes, tax-collectors, and even the filthy filthy Samaritans. It was a powerful message intended to prove that his teahcings were indeed to be spread to every facet of humality, and it's a good thing somebody, after only 2000 years, has finally taken this message to heart and gone after a demographic that could use some knowledge dropped on them : upper middle-class suburban white males, ages 12-18.

Fuel Youth Ministry in Austin, Texas is doing just that. We honestly can't tell you much about them, since they're just getting started, but we can tell that they're already on the right track to delivering a high-octane Christ to adolescent adrenaline junkies in search of spiritual enlightenment - they've even followed our patented five-step program:

Step 1.) Come up with a fly name that kids can identitfy with, preferably one borrowed from the name of an action sports cable network.

Step 2.) Coporate sponsorship of church activities will only enhance the legitimacy of the ministry in the eyes of these hyper brand-conscious youngsters - "The Burton Sonowboards Homily," or "Sunday School brought to you by Mountain Dew," or, if you really want to pack 'em in (as it were), "The Fuel Youth Ministry Church Picnic sponsored by Sex Wax."

Step 3.) Scrap the choir and hire a ska band. Give them a rebellious name like Rev. Johnny Dangerous and the Chaldeans.

Step 4.) Any time someone asks What would Jesus do? Look him straight in the eye and in all seriousness tell him, "BASE jumping."

Step 5.) Sit back and watch the little buggers with their habits for expensive physical exercise, designer clothers, and video games fill the collection plates every Sunday with their hard-earned allowances.

Saturday, January 21, 2006

Cinema Verite

By way of the Crack Emcee over at the Macho Response we discovered a book called "Self-Made Man: One Woman's Journey into Manhood and Back Again" by Norah Vincent. This book apparently chronicles the year and a half that one investigative reporter spent "moonlighting" (to use Mr. Emcee's words) as a male.

We have to admit, for the longest time we were a little skeptical of cross-dressing. This really turned us off of Shakespeare for quite awhile - that is, until we saw the late 20th Century cinema classic Just One of the Guys. The 1985 Lisa Gottlieb-directed film from the screenplay written by Dennis Feldman and Jeff Franklin is a classic in adolescent gender misrepresentation. Just like "Self-Made Man," the movie stars Joyce Hyster as a go-getting journalist in serach of the ultimate story. Encouraged by the under-rated comic relief delivered by Billy Jayne, our heroine, disguised as a man and unbound by the low expectations society places on her as a woman, slays the social indiginities of secondary education represented by William Zabka, who most people might remember as that asshole Johnny Lawrence from the Karate Kid.

It's important that all the truly timeless human stories are retold by every generation and we're glad to see Ms. Vincent continuing the cross-dressing-as-socialogical-experiment tradition. We just recommend that your next book be about something that you can sell the movie rights to.

Friday, January 20, 2006

Friday! Friday! Friday!

Pestilence has been doing shots of whiskey since noon so we’re going to escort his sorry ass to the bar to exploit the generosity that usually befalls him when he takes a liquid lunch. Right now he’s going on about getting the Interns – the Interns, mind you! – a bottle of Château la Mondotte Saint-Emilion, only he can’t make up his mind as to what vintage he wants. This is definitely something the rest of the staff is going to have to take advantage of. The Editorial Staff here at The Horse would like to give a special thank you to our good friend Naked Boy who directed what appears to be a good deal of traffic our way. As a token of our esteem, we’ve included this picture of ourselves in our birthday suits below.

Stay naked, Mr. Boy!

Gandhi Responsible for 9/11 (Trust Us)

Shortly after we started trolling the blogs two very disappointing facts became manifestly clear to us: 1.) not nearly as many people post naked pictures of themselves online as we had anticipated, and 2.) whack job conspiracy theorists are generally kept to a minimum. If we had to come up with a single word to describe the defining characteristic of the blogosphere, sorry to say, we might have to say Restraint; and until we find the web site that “proves” Elvis was the gunman on the grassy knoll after being secretly brainwashed by Richard Nixon a la the Manchurian Candidate, we’re sticking to our guns.

In the meantime, we’ll also be soaking up amateur historians/full-time crack heads’ 9/11 urban myths. For anyone interested in joining us a good place to start is Humint Events Online. It’s not just a clever pun that merges an aspect of intelligence gathering with a popular conservative weekly, but it’s also a rich repository of full-blown postmodern American paranoia.

Thomas Pynchon would be proud.

Pastry Jujitsu

We come across some pretty specialized blogs during the course of the day. For example, we think it should go without saying what you’re bound to discover if you amble on over to Celebrating Fire Hydrants. Yet every now and then we’ll discover a site that goes above and beyond the call of duty and is superlatively dogged in its singular focus, which is why we can’t get enough of I Am Fat And I Will Kick You In The Throat. A sampling:

"Monday, January 02, 2006 guess what i did today. i got up, ate, went outside, saw you, kicked you in the throat. that's what you get for wearing that stupid shirt. although i probably would have kicked you in the throat anyway. oh yeah, i took your donuts too."

And

"Friday, January 06, 2006 give me those donuts it's not like you can eat them with your kicked in throat."

And

"Friday, January 20, 2006 i had a dream that you were a giraffe and my foot was a truck that drove off a jump and crashed into your throat and you made a sound like a bursting vacuum cleaner bag.then i ate your donuts."

Throat Kicker will be more than welcome to cut in front of Charlie the Intern in the check out line at Krispy Kreme, but Mr. Kicker should think twice about getting between Famine and a jelly glazed donut.

Natural Selection in Action

Gamers are an interesting lot – kind of like Comic Book Guy sans standard face-to-face socialization. As soon as we hear the theme to Super Mario Brothers our heads are instantly filled with images of Cheeto’s-stained sweatpants, Coke-bottle spectacles futilely trying to correct basement-induced myopia, used Oxy pads, and hard drives filled to the brim with soft-core pornography. These fine Americans are our nation’s shock troops in the War on Hygiene. But what they lack in cleanliness they make up for with industry: who else can be trusted to play a 76 hour marathon game of Halo without resorting to crystal meth?

Jess the Intern doesn’t even see the difference between gaming and tweeking – both ultimately being attempts to leave or alter our reality, if only for a little while. Not that there’s anything wrong that – gaming, that is; we tend to look down on blowing truckers for spare change to go score some ice – but sometimes taking an extended tour to an alternate universe goes just a little too far.

Which brings us to Tiger Lili over at Another Gamer Girl. Quite frankly, we were flabbergasted to learn that there was just a single female in existence that would call her self a gamer, let alone many of them. You would think she could have her choice of the gamer nation’s misanthropic adolescents, which may sound like an enviable position, until you hear her account of what passes these days for romantic misadventure in the greater gaming community:

Dont Flirt and Fight

I'm just laughing about something I remembered a fellow gamer telling me. He used to often have cyber sex with his online girlfriend, and one day was doing so via a private chat whilst at the same time fighting with a team of hunters. He got his chat menus mixed up and accidentally ended up telling the fighting group the details of his planned perv session.

I laughed for ages and then finally asked him what their reaction was. He said there was a stunned silence for a few minutes. He was horrified.

Horrified I tell you.

Humanity is screwed if we somehow find a way to propogate the species via the internet.

Thursday, January 19, 2006

Some Pictures Say a Thousand Words...


...Others just say three.

There's Nothing Sexier Than a Torn Achilles Tendon

We spent the weekend trying to wrap our brains around this one, but we got nothing. Cast fetishes? We understand the whole concept of feet fetishes, but, frankly, we find cast fetishes not terribly far off from developing a fetish for people strung up in traction – and we happen to find mobility pretty damn hot.

JRo explains everything over at Confessions of a Cast Fetishist.

Smack Your Bishop!

From the Boylston Chess Club - even more about the most written about game in the history of competitive sport.

Horror Business

We tend to adopt the opinion that the utter lack of truth in advertising is not some Madison Avenue conspiracy, but just how people operate. We were flipping through the blogs the other day and found a site essentially entitled “Confessions of a Teenage Lesbian.” Needless to say, we were intrigued. Turns out that lesbians are just as wrapped up in grades, clothes, balh blah blah as every other teenager. Who knew? So we’ve come to develop a rule that states whenever someone claims to “confess” something, they’ve really got nothing to say.

But we were pleasantly surprised when we found Confessions of a Butcher. It’s not so much a lurid account of the meat industry as it is just wicked informative. That, and it features a pumpkin with the old Misfits Skull carved into it.

Could there be anything more dope?

Your Child Will Not Discover a Unified Field Theory

Everyone loves babies. They’re cute. They talk all funny. They shit in places and at times that we would like to, but can’t because society tells us it would not be “appropriate manners” or “good hygiene.” But let’s face it: babies are stupid. Why? Because they were literally born yesterday.

Raising Einstein, has found causes in both fighting the war against infant stupidity and preaching to parents on how they should raise their children. The blog claims it’s devoted to “Maximizing the Intellectual Development of Children,” but is little more than an elaborate sales pitch for fancy educational toys and trendy didactic methods. But, hey, if getting your 6 month old to learn the quadratic equation is more important to you than toilet training, go nuts – we’re sure the shrink we’ll be able to correct any psychological anomalies that should arise later on in life.

One of the fundamental questions raised by a web site named “Raising Einstein” is, can a mere blog help parents turn their slobbering sack of undeveloped human into a super genius? We’re a tad skeptical, and aside from Manhattan socialites that are desperate to get their children into this week’s hot Upper East Side nursery school, we really don’t know who would want to know about the myriad ways in which they fail as a parent…

Maybe one of those heroic home-schooling moms who bite their thumbs at godless public education and valiantly indoctrinate their children with curriculums authorized by Bob Jones University?

Love Thy Neighbor

From a Florida blogger named Naked Boy, who runs the aptly named Naked Boy Chronicles:

My neighbor having sex

I almost saw my neighbor and his girlfriend having sex in the bathtub/jacuzzi the other night. What an embarrassing thing.

My ceiling was leaking over my bathtub again, the water was coming from the light, like it had in the past with a heavy rain. It only did that once and this was the second time. I called my neighbor, his machine came on and I left a message. He travels a lot and I was wondering if he left the tub on or something and then left town forgetting it, so I took the pass key (I have pass key to all units) and went upstairs.

I entered the apartment and the lights were on but I didn’t see anyone. I called, “hello, hello” and got no response, so I was going to just walk into the master bedroom to see if the water was overflowing, but I decided against it. The first time I had the leak, it was due to rain, so even though it wasn’t raining last night, I thought it most likely wasn’t the bathtub.

Well, about 15 minutes later, my neighbor called back to confirm that he was in the tub and maybe there was a leak and he was with his girlfriend, so I assumed she was in the Jacuzzi tub with him. I vaguely heard voices when I went into the stairwell earlier, but I thought it was coming from another unit. Man … am I glad I didn’t walk into a private scene. Not only was I breaking and entering, I would never be able to face my neighbors again after seeing them “doing it” in the Jacuzzi.

First of all, whose idea was it to give the keys to all the apartment units to the naked guy?

We have to hand it to Naked Boy. You can’t call yourself Naked Boy and want people to think that you’re only naked some of the time. We here at The Horse happen to think he’s naked all the time – possibly even when shopping for groceries. This can’t be a comfortable situation for other people who live in the apartment. We tend to think that we’d be more than a bit embarrassed ourselves if one morning we went into the hallway to get the paper only to find Mr. Boy outside with his junk waving in the wind – and it’s a little nudity on behalf of his neighbors that Naked finds embarrassing? We expect more from our nudists, and remind you all that the complete and total absence of shame in the presence of a naked body is what separates the Naked Boys from the Naked Men.

FYI: Do a single Google Images search with the words “HOT,” “TUB,” and “ORGY” and all you get is this jackass.

Kicking it Home School

Biblical Womanhood is a God-fearing and truth-telling site devoted to “encouraging and equipping women in their God-given roles and confronting the lies of modern feminism.” It’s run by a classy dame named Crystal who offers helpful tips on how to keep the modern woman domesticated. Here’s how she describes herself:

“I am a child of God, the blessed wife of Jesse, and joyful mother of Kathrynne. My husband and I are both from large, homeschooling families. Both sets of our parents laid down their lives to raise us in the ways of the Lord. As Scripture says, "To whom much is given, much is required." We have been given so much and, as God enables us, we are seeking to give out to others. This blog is one little way, with my husband's oversight and blessing, I am striving to do just that. I do not profess to know all the answers, nor am I setting myself up as a teacher. Rather, I desire to be an encouragement, challenge, and inspiration to women and young women. You may or may not agree with what is written here. As with anything you read, please search the Scriptures for yourself and ask your husband or father for his counsel and direction.”

It’s a pity that with her innate sense of subservience to men and a kick-ass name like Crystal she isn’t a stripper.

Onward Christian Steelers!

We were always under the impression that God’s favorite football team hailed from a small Indiana hamlet, or at least that’s what Phil the Intern has been trying to convince us since he signed on this sinking ship. Evidently, Phil knows more about loopholes in the South Bend municipal public intoxication ordinances and the bathroom tile arrangement of the Linebacker Lounge than he does about the idiosyncrasies of the forward pass.

Turns out the Pittsburg Steelers are in fact the chosen people of the gridiron – despite the fact that the team resides in a godless, blue-collar, pro-labor industrial hellscape that always reminds Pestilence of Fritz Lang’s “Metropolis.” DP, Oscar in Louisville, and The Don operate Christian Steelers, a blog that aims to reframe timeless (and seemingly endless) football analysis in terms of Christian ethics.

For example, during a November game against Cleveland, the Browns were not just penalized for a personal foul on a play that negated an interception by their defense, but they were actually “called for cheating” in the just and omniscient eyes of the Lord who was using a team of NFL officials as his instruments of glory.

God, however, seemed unhappy with the performance of second-string Steeler QB Charlie Batch, who broke his hand at the end of the first half and did not return to the game. “Please pray for Charlie Batch’s hand to heal,” the blog asks us. “Fasting would be a good idea too.”

You know, because unlike millionaire athletes, we here at The Horse always have plenty to eat.

Blue Light Special

Hipsters are sooooo fucking cool. Just looking at them is enough to remind us of our glaring inadequacies not only as human beings, but also as harbingers of an imminent apocalypse. Everything they do is also, by extension, far more dope than anything we can hope to accomplish in this life or the next – and we mean everything. We’re confident that they can pick their noses with an aplomb foreign to the rest of us among the hoi polloi. So we tend to go apeshit when we see hipsters actually doing something aside from standing around with a disinterested expression on there face.

Even elementary arithmetic.

Nicole’s an attractive big city gal who wants to let the world know that she is an instrumental contributor to our nation’s thriving economy. Right now at Where it all goes, a spent journal readers can watch Nicole prove her commitment to capitalism by watching her essentially balance her checkbook with a running commentary on the events surrounding each purchase.

This is an impressive undertaking – it’s not often young people take the initiative to simultaneously dance on the graves of Karl Marx and Thorstein Veblen! We feel obligated to give Nicole a little bit of advice to help her on her way:

You can always pay off one credit card bill with another credit card.
Your parents don’t really need the title to their car as much as the EZCash store does.
When playing roulette, always bet on black.

Wither the Teen Matinee Idol?

We couldn't agree more that rock music should be sexual and angry. Rock stars, on the other hand, should not look like they have Down syndrome.

We'll Take Cirrhosis for $1000, Alex

For anyone who hasn’t found the continuing saga of Janet Powell nearly as entertaining as we have, we suggest heading over to Tonight We Dink For Free (Again). Three friends, doomed to serve a period of hard labor in grad school, have declared a Trivia Jihad against the city of Sommerville, MA – a city that truly does need to be laid to waste until the last infidel lies dead. Mike, Chris, and Herb have decided to channel two of our favorite fortes – prolific consumption of alcohol and natural propensity to display a wealth of useless knowledge – into one action-packed nightly ritual and see if they can go a month hopping from one bar’s trivia night to the next in a valiant effort to win more in gift certificates and miscellaneous prizes than they spend.

We applaud your efforts, You All Who Drink For Free (Again), and would join your crusade were it not for a nasty incident in Kenmore Square involving the idolatrous worship of a parking meter, a sincere desire to see automotive traffic move more efficiently through the thoroughfares, and public urination. We have little reason to believe the officers who gave us our field sobriety tests have forgotten our faces – but we will be with you in spirit!

EXCLUSIVE! Vegas Meltdown - Live in Progress!

Poor Janet Powell...

Ms. Powell has apparently been on a six day gambling binge in Vegas and has been kind enough to post frequent updates – 30 as of 0200 this morning – of her progress at the tables on her eponymous blog. We really should stress “apparently” since most of her posts read much like –

“Got roulette so drunk you passed out. Blackjack rode every ride at an amusement park. Keno collected something joker poker really stupid. Gone betting to a jolly sports betting good brolly, the craps Killers sound gambling has an arid, casino overexcitable raw glamour that is how it relies on sic bo language and horse racing the players casino play online, poker to introduce you want europe to, Switch wager it off dog racing if you card game know that Brandon Flowers, lead singer of omaha holdem the lava bingo tube, the sound slots barrier. Anyway, I contracted Maryam's jackpot services as the gambling magazines. 92. American roulette i love texas holdem to watch spanish 21 gameshows.”

Either Ms. Powell has tapped into a level of the unconscious that James Joyce never dared to tread or Rainman is currently wandering down the Strip in a cheap dress and blouse. Regardless, she seems to be dutifully checking in on her blog every few hours and we here at Pale Horse HQ promise to keep tabs on lovely Janet until her date with Lady Luck finally ends in financial windfall, psychotic episode, or further sprawling avant garde stream-of-consciousness narrative.

Good Old-Fashioned Abortion Haikus


Dr. JD Parnell is sick and fucking tired of Odes on Grecian Urns and went looking for new material on Jesus Loves Everything and became a muse to Jeremy over at Occult Design.

AARP Takes Shit From No One

Here at The Horse there are few things we enjoy more than messing with Texas, but thanks to the likes of the Yellowdog Granny we might not have to work so hard in the future. Ms. Granny is a 61 year-old Lone Star State firebrand who describes herself as an

“OLD ROCKING REDNECK GRANNY...TOO HIP TO CARE.... I LOVE ALL THINGS TEXAS EXCEPT FOR PEOPLE THAT VOTED FOR FORREST GUMP. I AM A WIDOW, COWBOYS FAN, ANIMAL LOVER (NOT SEXUALLY),”

–Thank you for clarifying that for us, Yellowdog, we have to admit that we were quite concerned there for a second, especially after the whole elf-fucking thing below–

“AND I HAENT SMOKED IN OVER 30 YEARS, HAVENT DRANK IN OVER 12 YEARS, HAVENT HAD SEX IN OVER 19 YEARS... SO IF YOU MEET ME SOME DAY AND I HAVE A BEER IN ONE HAND, A CIGERETTE IN THE OTHER....YOU KNOW I JUST GOT LAID...”

That’s the spirit, Ms. Granny! Don’t let the bastards keep you down – we’ll keep a lookout for ya!

Turns out that Yellowdog’s dearly departed husband also had something of a literary bent and was heavily inspired by the works of William S. Burroughs:

“My last husband tried to shoot me...he didnt...I did..had a trial..jury was out less than 2 hours...not guilty...only reason it took that long was they went out for their last free meal on the state of New MexicoI hid out in Calif. using different names to hide from my x-inlaws, cause I thought they would either kill me or kidnap my daughter...Everyone thought I was crazy..years later when a simi-peace was made they admitted to my daughter they were looking for me and would have kidnapped her and maybe shot me if they had the chance..so I wasent paranoid..”

No, Ms. Granny, you weren’t paranoid! Just out on the lam! But all is forgiven. Any woman who refers to Forrest Gump repeated throughout her blog and expects her readers to understand without explanation that she is talking about the President is fine by us. Besides, it’s only fair that we pay our respects to the protopunkers and original hellions as they reach the twilight of their lives and start taking advantage of Social Security and Medicare (We may be able to score some Valium off ‘em!).

The Horse salutes you, Yellowdog Grannie, and your efforts to make Texas a place that one should truly not dare to fuck with! You hard work allows us to cut off work early and make it to the bar in time for the start of happy hour.

Does She Do Leprechauns Too?

The competition was fierce, but the honors of our inaugural post go to Hallgerdur Hallgrímsdóttir, a 21 year old Icelandic rock-and-roller who heats up the long and bitter winter nights in her native Reykjavik by getting busy with elves. Hallgerdur, who runs the Sex with Humans is Boring blog, claims to be “an expert on how to have sex with elves” and proudly displays her talent with pins that read “FUCKED BY AN ELF” – available now on her web site. No word if her preference is a result of a long standing Orlando Bloom crush or part of a D & D game that probably should have ended several years ago.

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