[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.
Yes,
kids, two books in one year. Veering dangerously close to looking
productive (as an aside, things will be quieter afterwards).
