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Monday, July 10, 2006

insert caption here

Wile perusing the lovely site gawker.com, which, by the way is an awesome site for you celeb whores out there. I don't even know what to say about this, and gawker really didn't either, so I have decided to make up a little story...you know, from the horses point of view...enjoy:



My story with Horsey....horsey being Hillary Duff.

I started as a conglmerate of pebbles, some volcanic, but mostly just sandstone and things lower than 5 on the Moh's hardness scale. When I was conceived, the last way I thought I'd end up was as a horse head on the side of some crazy building. Traditionally speaking, its more of a gargoyle's job. And I ain't no stinkin gargoyle. Never have been, never will be. Not to say I am against gargoyles...I mean, I play poker on thursdays with some guys who are definetely more gargoyle than anything else, and we get along great. they're practically a chip off the old block (for the readers, that's the last stone-related joke I will make).

Anyway, I know what you're thinking...you're thinking 'ooh this is a total photo shop picture.' But it's not. Look, Hllary Duff gets harassed enough by actual humans, the fact that she would take time to still pose with them is a modern marvel. But after our briief photo session, she confessed that I was the first stone horse she'd even done a session with. Then she went downtown and did another session.

What? She's a busy girl...can't expect her to hang with me in the burbs all day now, can you? And I know this seems absurd, because quite frankly: I'm a stone horse. But get over it. The fact that I am a stone horse is the last thing we should even be dwelling upon. Rather, think about the tornado in the background there. Where did it come from?

I can tell you: it came froim me and Hillary's firey love. And it isn't going away.

And the gingerbread house? I can explain that as well. Essentially, even as a stone horse, a guy's still gotta work. I need to feed my kids right? After all, they are my little ponies. And I love them. And when their mother and I (who will remain nameless, the chunty whore) made these little blesssings, she left me high and dry for a gig as a horse podeum at Churchhill Downs. Good for her. Yeah, no worries. I'll just take care of the kids, and manage my career protecting a tornado ridden gingerbread house. Right?

I am also really happy that she is sitting on a cheeta print couch. Any horse print and she would have had some 'splainin to do.

Anyway, I'm just a stone horse trying to get by.

Got a funnier story? I don't doubt it. I am a moron, so you could shit on a CD and that would turn out better. Anyway, if you got something you think is a laugh riot, leave it as a comment, or shoot me an email @ askscottsomething@yahoo.com!

yay for absurdity!

1 comment:

Grant Gish said...

Hillary Duff awoke on a leopard skin upholstered couch; 17th Century French alabaster trim, no doubt. As she scratched her head and released her morning gas like a fire engine wailing down the Champs Elysses, Hillary realized she had no clue where she was...and what was that horse statue looking at? Just then, the horse began to speak. "Welcome to Hell Hillary, where the gingerbread houses are made of inedible brick, the horses talk, success is always an elusive step away, and your navel is used as the community bathroom." Hillary screamed and cried and kicked and screamed, only to eventually come out of her tantrum once she realized that hell sounded little different than her past home...Hollywood.