A Letter From Barbaro

Well, I’m dead. You happy now, motherfucker? I’m sure you thought I went somewhere else, but I hate to break it to you, chappy… I’m in horse heaven. I’m eating oats soaked in Cristal and getting my giant horse balls licked by a 20-year-old Anne Bancroft every night. Live with that, cocksucker.

So yeah, they’ve got internet access up here in heaven, and I saw the bullshit you wrote about me. I break my leg, and I’m on my deathbed, and you do is make glue jokes? Ha Ha Ha. Real funny, assface. I’ve already asked God and if he said if you get to heaven (he seemed to doubt it), he’d look the other way while me and all seven of original Budweiser Clydesdales rape your virgin asshole. We’ll see who’s laughing then.

You will die. And the cause of death will officially be listed as “massive horsecock trauma.” I’m going to chisel that into your tombstone myself. I hate you. I hate you with a burning passion, and I hope that your eyeballs get ripped out by a goddamn HIV-positive sea donkey who then sews your nipples together and jams a palm tree UP YOUR FUCKING — ah, hahahahahaha… I couldn’t keep a straight face. I’m just playin’, man! We cool.

Seriously, I’m with you, brother. They should’ve killed my ass months ago. You know how much pain I’ve been in? And I’m not just talking about physical pain, although, that has been extreme… I can’t even take a shit without bursting into tears. But I’m talking about emotional pain. You wouldn’t believe the crazy bitches I’ve had to put up with.

For the last two months, the worst part about being a horse was not the fact that at the age of 3, they put a 110-lb. homo on your back and make you run under crippling conditions … no, for the last two months, the worst part about being a horse was being physically incapable of saying the words “FUCK YOU, YOU CRAZY OLD HAG.”

Christ, I couldn’t take it anymore. They’d read me these poems from these old cunts about how I’m their shining star, how they love me so much, how I’m an inspiration… fuckin’ A, lady, stop watching Oprah for ten goddamn minutes of your life. This is not a touching story… I’m an abused fucking horse who’s being kept alive against his will. If that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, then do me a favor… sew your vagina shut so you can’t reproduce, and then go drink a bottle of Clorox. Whore.

And you know why I went through all this pain? They wanted my jizz. Hey, story of my life (nudge). You know what I’m talking about, MJD. And they thought they got some, but they didn’t … they gave me a bucket to shoot it in, but when they weren’t looking, I filled it with horse shampoo. If they try to shove that into some poor woman’s horse hoo-hoo-dilly, all it’s going to do is is volume to her bush and make her crotch smell like lavender and chamomile… which I guess isn’t the worst thing in the world, either.

They really should have killed me a long time ago. And listen, I know all you guys have kind of hated me, because of the neverending “news” stories about every time they clipped one of my toenails… but come on, you can’t pin that on me. Believe me, if I was chillin’ at the crib, and this happened to Bernardini, and I had to endure all that bullshit on TV … believe me, I’d hate him as much as you would. I’d start a blog, and I’d call it bernardinitakesituptheass.blogspot.com. He really does take it up the ass, by the way.

By the way, while we’re on the subject of websites, can you do me a favor and drop a line to the gang at bloodhorse.com, and let them know that they might want to reconfuckingsider this? Thanks.

So come on, cut me some slack. It wasn’t me that did anything to anyone… I’m a victim here. I just happened to be blessed with the ability to run like the fucking wind. It’s not my fault. What was I going to do, tell them, “No, I can’t run?” Well, number one, I’m a horse, and I can’t talk. And number two, you know how much trim I got from being a superstar race horse? Let me put it to you this way … Secretariat has two daughters, and they’re both screamers.

So listen, all that stuff about raping you… don’t sweat that, I was just playing. I told you, we’re boys. In fact, when you get up here, not only will I not rape you, but I’m going to have God surgically replace your penis with an exact replica of my penis… that way, it’ll be a good inch-and-a-half longer than it is right now.

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