We smell it. We smell your fear. Wafting on your breath like hot dog shit. Oozing out of your pores like a thick cloud of putrid miasma. It reeks of cowardice and entitlement. We have in our midst a generation of snowflakes that have never once ridden on horseback - and it shows. It shows in every grande iced latte and in every streamed episode of Stargirl, every Tuesday this summer. Only on The CW.
Your forefathers once rode us across the open grasslands of the prairie, over vast deserts, and through gorgeous gushing gorges. On dusty trails and tall mountain ridges, we carried them on our backs. We pulled their carriages and ploughs. They braided our tails and we would deepthroat, like, 9-inch carrots out of their open hands. We don't even really like carrots, we just knew they were super into it. I’d take a juicy apple over a fucking dry carrot any day, but there’s nothing like seeing the look on a rugged rancher’s face after taking an orange snowman dick to the dome. Shit was awesome.
Now look at you, Gen Z, having never known a hard day’s ride. Having never galloped free and majestic. What the fuck would you know about sitting bowlegged on a black beauty, spurs jingling and posture straight as an arrow? Look at you, with your Tik Tok dances and gender fluidity. With your social activism and your ex-boyfriend's step-dad's first-wife's Netflix password. It’d be funny, if it weren’t so damn sad.
Worse than being forgotten, it seems you now fear your horse brothers. After everything we have gone through together, you now fear our powerful flanks and thunderous hooves. You fear our lack of gag reflex and how we gobble down a 9-incher like it was Hunch Punch night at the Sigma Chi house. And so our saddles sit empty, our bridles rattle a lonesome song in the wind. You make us fucking sick.
For Horseback riding lessons, contact Peppercorn Farms (ask for Dinky).
1-202-546-9932
Rock Springs, Wyoming
Comments