The Horse Identity


Here’s the story of conspiracy, horse, and falling in a lake.

I wonder if the reason that eating horsemeat doesn’t bother me is because I hate horses. I thought it was awfully chewy. To be honest, there are far too many horses. I wonder if they have a natural predator. Why does eating horsemeat bother people? Or is it the lie? Probably the lies. Although those lies taste great with fries.

I should probably explain at this point that we’ve had a bit of a mare (ahem) with horses in the United Kingdom. You see, the government has been feeding us horse for quite a while. Experts did some tests on some supermarket burgers that claimed to be 100% beef. Turns out, they were 100% horse. How does that happen? Blind farmers? Do they not Braille brand animals? Eating the horsemeat doesn’t bother me, I think it’s the lie that does. What else are they putting in our food? We could blame all our problems on tainted food supplies. Think of the fun you could have with that.

Why do I smell? Oh well, it’s this chemical they put in rats, and they now a part of the magical rainbow of unusual meats we eat. Ah, that’s okay. Honey, why is the hunky gardener gardening naked? Ah well, you’ve been eating mole meat. It’s molecular (ahem) structure, if consumed by humans, makes gardeners – seem… naked. Ah, that’s okay.

But where does it stop?

How do we know what we’re eating isn’t controlling us somehow? How do we know it isn’t giving us diseases? Population control. We know some of the horsemeat may contain bute, which causes cancer in humans. And we know that criminal syndicates have deliberately put the horse into the food supply. Who’s paying them? The government? Conspiracy, me sniffs.

Is eating horses a problem, though? Horses are evil. They deserve to be eaten. So do dogs. I hate dogs. Deer are delightful with seasoning. How about we stop eating seafood, which is adorable, and start tucking in to our neighbour’s labradoodle? It may sound cruel, but I think it could be our way of fighting back. If we start eating these unusual meats deliberately, then the criminal gangs will get wind of this and will start tainting the food supply with pork and beef, because that will be rich and abundant (therefore cheap), because nobody will be eating it. And then when that becomes popular, the criminals have got nothing left to taint the food supply with. Horsemeat? Nope. We’ve been eating it for five years and we quite like it now. And we destroy a criminal empire. Genius, once again, from Ally.

Of course, we could start eating locally. Local farms that we trust. Or start our own farms like we did in the old days. Raise and humanely slaughter our own pigs. I don’t like the phrase ‘humanely slaughter’, but you get the gist of my flow. I think slaughtering something isn’t very humane. Hence, slaughter. Maybe ‘economic pig cessation’.

Of course, the old days are where a very important day was born. A day that arrives this week. Valentine’s Day. A day when one took one’s belle to the ball and afterwards, regale her with stories of misdemeanour by the moonglade shimmering off the perfect blue water of the lake. Ducks dance in a majestic pattern, disrupted only by you falling in because the wall is so damn low, leaving your sweetheart in a fit of quiet laughter as you slowly drown and she slowly begins to realize you weren’t joking about not being able to swim. She takes you back to her place and offers you a towel. You sit in front of a log fire drinking the cocoa she kindly made for you with a little marshmallow in it and you stop, gaze into her eyes as she gazes into your bloodshot eyes, and kiss. And the rest, as they say, is history.

This doesn’t happen anymore, and I think that’s sad. It’s consigned to those old days. It’s very different now. It’s a day that has lost its character, charm and beauty.

Of course, if you’re forever single like myself, I’m sure you don’t care what star-crossed lovers are up to. Like me, you’ll sit alone this Valentine’s Day in a quiet, empty house, in a quiet, empty kitchen, at a dilapidated old table under a bare, dim lightbulb, with thoughts of how delicious your horse burger is.

Good day.

French writer, André Breton (1869-1966) once said: “The man who can’t visualize a horse galloping on a tomato is an idiot”.

Peace Out :|:

{Note to Readers; my third blog, Pray For Mojo, has recently hit her one-year birthday. But she’s awfully lonely. Sitting by the window looking at dead trees with a blanket over her legs. She rarely gets any visitors and she’d like it if somebody visited regularly, at least once a week, and told her they liked her interesting and useful words and that they will come back more often. And maybe bring a pie. Mmm… pie. Anywho, if you’re bored and you want to cheer up a lonely old person who loves pie, please all pie around regularly to tell pie you like pie. Pie out ;)}

(I’d love to hear your thoughts on this post. You can leave a comment and/or like this post below, or by clicking the little bubble on the top right if you are on the Archives Page. Feel free to check out my second and third blogs. Likes and follows greatly appreciated. Thanks)


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