[As dictated by Sir Edric to his manservant, Dog]
It has come to my attention that many people in the United Kingdom, United States, and other minor nations, do not own horses. Even people wealthy enough to buy one.
Instead, the degenerate lunatics prefer carriages, of no horse drawn. These carriages, shortened by the vulgar to ‘car’, are a manner of metallic box, with a rubbery wheel at each corner. The wheels are driven by a belching demon of fire and brimstone that squats in the car and is fed oil in exchange for its diabolical service (although that doesn’t stop its constant grumbling, nor its toxic flatulence).
Whilst it is true a car is faster than a horse, that is a demented reason for preferring them. A man gets drunk faster by drinking pure alcohol rather than whisky (incidentally, do visit Scotland. The locals are strangely fond of skirts, but brew excellent beverages), yet you don’t see anyone but the suicidal trying it.
The horse has innumerable advantages over the charmless practicality of the car.
A man can reasonably own several dozen horses and select the best for a given task. A long journey necessitates a courser like Temper. Carrying luggage can be delegated to a nag like Churl. And charging into battle requires the services of a violent maniac like Moloch (assuming you can actually put a saddle on him without getting maimed).
Can you imagine charging a line of enraged Ursk in a 2CV? A preposterous notion.
Furthermore, horses are noble animals. Instead of poisoning the earth with their outpourings, they produce fertiliser which, Dog informs me, if used by the servants on one’s garden grows the most splendid roses. Try bottling the foul emanations of your nasty 4x4 and see how many flowers you can grow with it.
Horses, of course, are intelligent and trusty animals. The engine-demon is a fickle creature and responds as readily to a thief as a rightful owner. Try stealing Moloch and you’ll find yourself being scraped off the stable walls in the morning, assuming he hasn’t eaten you during the night. Not only that, but horses can be trained to respond to commands, which is damned useful when escaping from a bedroom window at short notice.
Have you ever heard of car therapy, where people with troubled souls feel better by stroking a car? Of course not. You’d have to be an imbecile to believe such a thing. Horse therapy, on the other hand, does exist, and can have a profoundly positive effect on unfortunate fellows who find themselves in need of reassurance.
Women find few things as irresistible as a man who can ride bareback at a moment’s notice. A stallion between one’s legs, obedient to the merest twitch of one’s thighs, makes the fairer sex friskier than a rabbit on Valentine’s Day.
Last, but by no means least, horses are an alternative to guide dogs. Whilst they are less likely to be accepted in restaurants, they do have superior longevity to hounds. Not to mention, you can’t ride a guide dog.
So, there we have it. Horses are heroic and magnificent animals, a boon companion for mankind. Cars are tedious boxes of demonic woe.
Sir Edric Greenlock, the Hero of Hornska