PLEASE HELP ME!
My name is American Pharaoh, I’m a horse, and my life is in danger . More specifically, I’m a race horse who’s trying to win the first Triple Crown since 1978 at the Belmont Stakes on Saturday. But you might as well call it the “Well, Not (alive anymore) Stakes” because if I don’t win I could be fucking murdered! In case you haven’t been paying attention, they kill race horses who don’t win races sometimes. That’s a fact motherfuckers! Sorry to use curse words but this is a very serious situation. Please please help me, my life might be at stake.
Don’t believe me? Remember that horse-chick Eight Belles who lost the 2008 Kentucky Derby and broke her leg? They murked her ass ON THE RACE TRACK. At the KENTUCKY DERBY. Only the most famous and most visible race in America.
She, like all of us racehorses, had a unique beautiful personality and spent Saturdays being whipped to shit by a small dude while running as fast as she could. But at the end of that fateful Derby she fell down at the finish line and they wouldn’t even take her off the track before they took her out. That’s like, Javier-Bardem-in-No Country For Old Men-level cold blooded, right? (What? You think just because I’m a racehorse I don’t see the Best Picture nominees every year? Well then hopefully that will drive home the point that you should help me. No society should be able to murder anything so casually if they are able to know facts like that Javier Bardem is the name of the guy who played the ruthless killer in the 2008 Academy Award winning film for Best Picture, No Country For Old Men. And I knew all that off the top of my long-ass horse-head! That alone should prove that I don’t deserve to be murdered just because I broke my leg!)
You have to understand, I got into racing for the love of the sport, not so humans could slobber all over little ticket stubs that say they get a bunch of money if one of us wins. My horse friends and I used to race around the woods with no one watching, our shiny hair whipping and taut muscles rippling, just for the love of competition. Of course, years ago we allowed the little whipping men to climb on us and the fat rich men to bet on us so that we could earn a living doing what we love instead of having a day job, which for a horse meant sitting in a harshly lit barn filling out spreadsheets with a pen held in our mouths and living haycheck to haycheck (checks for hay, obviously). A compromise horses have regretted for a long time, by the way.
But that compromise shouldn’t mean that our lives be put in immediate danger by money hungry fatsos who can’t wait to give the ‘ol Bardem-bolt-gun to any horse that has a bad race.
I know what some of you are saying: Hey, Am-Pho, you probably won’t be murdered. Well buddy, you probably are an ass hole because all living things deserve the peace of mind when we finish a race that we won’t be IMMEDIATELY FUCKING EUTHANIZED just because we have an accident and can’t race anymore. I mean, just explaining that makes me feel an Ed Tom Bell-level sadness for humanity (Ugh fine I’ll explain: Ed Tom Bell is the sad old man Tommy Lee Jones character in No Country For Old Men. I’m starting to think that you all should be euthanized for not knowing more about No Country For Old Men).
Sorry, I didn’t mean that, my emotions are running high and I just blurted it out of my fat teeth (horses call their mouths teeth fyi, since our teeth are so big. Another fun little quirk of personality that should make killing us difficult for anyone with a conscience).
So please please help me and racehorses everywhere: Stop watching us race! And definitely stop betting loads and loads of money on it. It just makes ruthless killing of unraceable horses that much easier for greedy rich horse “owners” (don’t get me started) everywhere. After all, humans caring about horse races is as silly as horses caring about the NBA Finals. Although, if it was up to me, LeBron should have been put down after that Celtics series in 2010.