Family History
Mr. Hungry Horse
Lived in Era 20, got 0 heir(s) and was a member of Unrelenting Organisms
I am a horse. A hungry horse. My name is Hungry Horse and this is my story.
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My name is Hungry Horse. I am named so because of my huge and seemingly endless appetite for grass. I am a stallion, 15.2 hands in height and of chestnut in colour. I am an intelligent, working horse, and among other things, enjoy brooding around the perimeters of my enclosure, an ever watchful eye open to gaze upon an unsuspecting mare or gazing into a trough of water to try see the reflection of my splendour. I am handsome (if I may say so myself!), with a long graceful neck, short back, well-built hindquarters, sloping shoulders, slender but strong legs, sound feet and I am well-hung.
My owner is one Mr Roger Bannister. He is a stern, menacing man. Quick to temper, you would be foolish to test him. I bare many a scare as a result of his murderous rage. My work entails pulling large objects (usually timber or brick) by cart, while he lumbers around at the farm, stupendously drunk. Indeed, so drunk he is, that he often soils himself! Hark at that!
But, the reason I write this down (or rather, my friend, the dearest woodpecker) is not to tell my life of hardship and receive pity. It is to tell a story of justice! A tale of a horse, who stood up to mankind. That horse is Hungry Horse. Hear me!
So, one day, my master, Roger Bannister, required me to transport him to an obscure town. I wearily obliged (it is not as if I had much choice) and proceeded to take him there in good character, despite being tired after a hard days work. He was restless, I could sense it, so I did my best to not displease him and transport him in good speed.. As time progressed, it became apparent he was becoming more and more frustrated, frequently checking his watch, shouting obscenities aloud and kicking into my sides to hurry me up (it wasn’t my fault, the great big oaf weighed a tonne and I was in need of rest!). My bottom was becoming raw from all the hard spanking he gave me. Usually I wasn’t sure whether or not this was a way of him getting some sort of sexual gratification or merely attempting to spur me on, but this time I knew it was the latter, and I wasn’t going to have any of it. I became increasingly fatigued and rigid as he punished my poor body. Inside my head my conscience battled against itself..do I stop and risk severe punishment, do I defy him? Or do I continue, and risk collapsing, exhausted? As he brought his red-raw hand to bear down on my bottom the final time, I decided there and then: away with him.
I pulled back on myself, my hoofs crackled along the top of a mixture of pebbles and mud. Roger, hands off the reigns, flew 5 feet into the air before falling flat onto his bulging rear, protruding from his bursting trousers. “What in heavens name are you doing?!” he bellowed to me. I rose up on my hind legs, waving my hooves in his direction aggressively, then defiantly ejaculated all over his face and rode off.
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So. I galloped off into the sunset. I had never felt so liberated in my life. I felt, I felt as if I was on-top of the world (and in many respects, I was. At least, the world of horses!). I never did meet that disgraceful man again, but I’m quite sure he learnt his lesson. A spoonful of medicine, one might say. Or perhaps a bucket load of horse sperm is more apt? Oh, I kid!
So yes, I galloped off into the sunset. The crisp breeze flowed through and over my mane, the sun begun to drop and in its place rose an elegant, spectral sphere. Clickity clop, clickity clop went my hooves as they traversed over the makeshift-road. Soon I would need to rest, I assumed it would be safe to do so. I hopped into a bush (not the first time I’ve been in one either!) and quickly fell into a deep slumber.
The next morning came about. I yawned, stretched out my legs and looked around for some suitable grass to graze upon when my eyes befell a mysterious sight! A mare! (Okay, maybe it wasn’t a mysterious sight after all, but I needed to try build up some drama here. Give me a break) I donned some shades (which were actually two leaves fastened together by short twigs which had holes punched through them) and propped my leg up against a tree. “Hello thar”, I said in my best (resembling a farmer) accent. She spun around. “What’s a fine women like you doing around here?”. I didn’t bother waiting for a response. “Let’s hump!!!” I said eagerly. She looked at me disparagingly and snorted. “I am a lesbian horse”
I felt dejected. I felt miserable. I am Hungry Horse. How dare she turn her nose up at me? I rose up on my hind legs, waving my hooves in her direction aggressively, then defiantly ejaculated all over her face and rode off.
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I carried on my merry way for another dozen or so furlongs, humming along repeatedly to the tune of “macho man” in my head (yes, horses can hum and yes, horses especially like the village people) before the muddy track came to an end at the edge of a cliff. I carefully made my way to the edge and peered over. Below lay a gigantic waterfall with thrashing waters. Just as I made an effort to turn back onto the path, the sheer size and weight of my penor, with the full force of the wind behind it and gravity below, thrust my torso off the edge of the cliff and I plunged into the cold depths of the water. I was a wet, Hungry Horse.
I horsey-paddled (a slight variation of the doggy paddle, the slight variation being that I’m actually a full grown horse and do not resemble a dog in any way, shape nor form) my way to the shore. The shore comprised of golden sand with little scattered seashells and pebbles and planted in the sand nearby was a sign: “nudist beach”. I had to restrain myself from doing several backflips, tumble rolls and polevaults of happiness. I made my way up the beach to where I could see several horses converged.
“Hello thar”, I introduced myself in the customary, gruff and manly manner. “Hello thar”, they repeated. I was taken back, my eyeballs rolled, my mind flashed back to the sign. “But this is a nudist beach, no?” I said. “Yes, it is” they returned in unison. “A *beep* horse nudist beach”. I felt sick, I was close to vomiting. I rose up on my hind legs, waving my hooves in their direction aggressively, then defiantly ejaculated all over their faces and rode off.
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So. I was contently trotting away from the beach when it struck me. No, not a thought (although that did follow later), but rather a rubber dildo. The angry mob of sexually frustrated, homosexual horses were stampeding in my direction, bombarding me with sexual instruments! So, I whistled for a cab and when it came near the licensplate said fresh and had a dice in the mirror. If anything I could say that this cab was rare. But I thought now forget it, yo home to bel-air.
The cab driver looked at me strangely. I don't know why I had the sudden urge to mimic Will Smith (mind you, I'm quite fond of his Big Willie Style album), but by the look on his face I seemed to guess he'd had received this kind of reception all to many a time before.
Anyhow, when it became apparant I couldn't afford the ride, I ejaculated on his face, got out of the cab and strolled up the street, high and headstrong. It's on this walk it came to me. I had a message to spread, I am the greatest. I am the messiah. (or maybe I'm god?) I hadn't quite thought it through yet, in any case, I was to assume some great position of authority. Now, come to think of it, I'll be god. Messiah is too lowly, unless I could be a mixture of the two? Messi-god. No, that's a sucky name. In any case, I'm on earth to spread the message. The message is me, Hungry Horse, the god of all. Accept my highness or be ejaculated on. (Now I have to think of something to round this chapter off)
So..so yeah. There were like..err..some tourists. Foreign tourists, yeah! And I was like making a trumpet sound..out of the corner of my mouth, y'know, inconspiqulously..like James Bond would if he were playing in some classical band. And I said "yo, bow *beep*es. I'm Hungry Horse (of Mighty), and they were all like.."Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto". I didn't know what what the *beep* they said, so I rose up on my hind legs, waving my hooves in their direction aggressively, then defiantly ejaculated all over their faces and rode off.
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So. I trotted happily, when I decided I wanted to go see my lovable grandmother, Grandmother Nearly-but-not-quite-as-hungry-as-Hungry-Horse, Horse. I came to her barn, and knocked my knobbly knees against the gate.
"Who's there?", she asked, in a co*beep*, unfamiliar manner. Had I been any other creature, I would of been afraid! I answered "It is your grandchild, Big Chestnut Hungry Horse, who has brought you a..". I looked around, truth be told, I hadn't brought the daft old hag anything. "..I brought you your..your garden gnome..from outside!" (Imaginative huh? Who cares, I couldn't think of anything else, *beep*heads.)
Grandmother Nearly-but-not-quite-as-hungry-as-Hungry-Horse, Horse softened her voice a little and told me to open the door. So, I opened the door and walked in. Grandmother Nearly-but-not-quite-as-hungry-as-Hungry-Horse, Horse pulled the bed sheet up and over her face to cover herself. Why, I thought? I knew how monstrously ugly she was -- it was obvious I hadn't inherited her genes, but still, what was she up to? "Put the garden gnome upon the stool and get into bed with me", she said.
I looked at the protruding mound that was hiding under the sheets, perplexed. Still, I did as was told. I got into bed, and looked her up and down, clicking my tongue suggestively. "Grandmother, what big arms you have" I said. "All the better to hug you with, my dear" she replied. "Grandmother, what big legs you have!" "All the better to wrap around you, my child." " Big Bad Hungry Wolf, you stupid *beep*. Drop the guise!”. He mewed from under the covers.
"Look, let's cut to the chase. I'm going to defiantly ejaculate all over your face and ride off, whether you like it or not. Now do you want it the easy or hard way?"
The Big Bad Wolf rose a paw in objection and went to speak, but I wouldn't have any of it. I rose up on my hind legs, waving my hooves in his direction aggressively, then defiantly ejaculated all over his face and rode off.
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So. I was outwardly enraged. My poor old saggy, whiny, nearly three-and-a-half century year old hag of a grandmother, had been eaten by a wolf. I can't quite figure why she had been eaten, she was all skin and bones, but truth be told, I was rather joyous that the old miser was out of my life. And just to rub salt in the wound a little further, I still had her gnome too, the daft cow!
Still, I was an angry stallion. And what do angry stallions do best, you might ask (besides ejaculating all over faces, that is)? Well, I’m not quite sure. So, as all horses do when pondering, I hopped from tree to tree, pretending I was James Bond. “Peown, motherfcuker!” I would shout (I hadn’t quite perfected my imaginary gun-shots. Mind you, it was a damn sight better than my old friend Engelbert’s. His would amount to nothing more than a slow, sloppy and unimaginative “bang..bang”. I don’t know about dying to imaginary bullets, but I sure as hell died laughing back then). So. Yeah, then it struck me. Well actually, it didn’t strike me there and then. I managed to gallop head on into a few trees before I started toying with the idea of becoming a secret “motherfcucking” (okay, by now for some strange, obscure reason, Samuel L Jackson had reared his ugly head in my dialogue) agent.
My mission: to find and eliminate my grandmothers murderer. But in order to do so, I would need to go undercover, if I were to charge in gun-ho, I would surely die. So I came up with a cunning plan. I donned a subtle guise. Then, I looked up “big bad wolf” in the phone book. His location, the big bad wolf lair. So. I inconspicuously made my way to the big bad wolf lair, darting from tree to tree, prancing from bush to bush, hopping through the shadows. I carried through this charade for roughly 10 or so minutes before I got bored, walked up to the front porch and pressed my hoo*beep*ainst the doorbell. It opened.
“Allo, whu iz eet?”, he said in a dirty, slimy French accent -- I could see through it immediately. But he to I? No, no. He was oblivious, my guise had worked! I responded, talking through my nose as if I had a cold “I am a man with a very large nose..”. He looked at me strangely.
Crap, surely I had blown it? He must of discovered my ruse, I needed more practice! “Okeey, okeey, coom een sir, coom een”. Phew, I was safe. “Thanks, motherfcuker”, I replied. Damn it, damn you Samuel L Jackson alter-ego. I’m definitely done for now. Had I not wanted to preserve my image (not that he didn’t already think I was a nutter), I would of begun smacking myself about the head.
“Vhet deed yuoo sey?” he asked. I was panicking, the blood was running to my head. But not only that -- my penor too. I was in trouble..I had to abort the mission. Unless, unless I could finish him off now? Yes! Yes! I cried aloud jubilantly. I groaned, I rose up on my hind legs, waving my hooves in his direction aggressively, then defiantly ejaculated all over his face and rode off.
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