Sylvia: Could you elaborate?
Mirror: According to this story, they’re going to kill you and take your place.
Sylvia: Does that even make any sense to you?
Mirror: Nope, and neither does this story, simply named, “Horse.” Anyway, let’s get hung like a horse and Riff this bitch!
That horse mocks you.
Mirror: We’re being mocked? What an amusing change of pace.
Do you hear the neighing? More like naying!
That horse says no to you. The horse is the man of the house. You are the horse.
Clop clop! Trot about to your dingy office, little horsey.
Sylvia: Is this a fetish thing?
Your wife kisses her husband-horse when you can't see. And then again when you can.
Mirror: Hey, what do you expect? He’s hung like a horse!
She buys it shoes, finer than any you'll own. Its metal feet crush your soul.
"This horse is now man!" it exclaims. "I am defeated!" you cry.
Sylvia: “What the hell am I reading?” I ask.
The horse has beat you. Soon you'll be in the stall, eating dry, bland grasses, while the majestic Horse band ferries your wife about town.
"Oh!" the city folk shall say as they drop to their knees as their muscles fail them at the sight of such a couple. "The horse is such a man!" they weep as they tear out their eyes, knowing they'll never see such beauty again.
Mirror: Listen, bronies, no matter how much you say the ponies are human, they’re still ponies and clop is still weird.
Your wife and the Horse God shall laugh and eat gold together. Ha ha! And your tears shall be blood as you shrivel and turn to dust, forgotten in that stall outside the city where the HORSE is now Emperor Of All and Lover of One.
Sylvia: Hey, Mirror?
Sylvia: Did you spike my breakfast with something?
Mirror: No. Why?
Sylvia: Because I think I’m high.
The citizens will genuflect before the great beast, paying whatever the Hoofed One demands, be it of coin or flesh. The people will rejoice to do so, as their Great and Benevolent Equine shall make their crops plenty, and their lives ever long.
Mirror: KNEEL BEFORE YOUR HORSE GOD!
The rotten stall shall collapse on your worm-eaten bones, and none shall remember a whit about you. Except the Ur Horse, the original horse,
Sylvia: The OG Horse.
who shall shed no tear, but blink in bitter recollection of that brief time he had to endure you.
Do not let this come to be. Shoot that horse. With your Glock. Eat its meat. Make a horse stew. Turn its bones into glue, and use it to glue the skull to your wall. Use its hooves to make a tasteless gelatin to encase its eyes in. Do it.
Mirror: Just do it! Don’t let your weird ass drug dreams become reality! DO IT!
Be the man of the house, not the man of the horse.
Sylvia: (Narrator): And, please, consult a psychiatrist, because what even the fuck.
Mirror: This is hilariously bizarre.
Sylvia: I’m…I just…what? Does this mean anything? Is there some deeper meaning I’m missing? Because this is just bizarre. It’s just some guy’s weird and paranoid horse delusions. I think. There’s not much else I can say besides, “What the fuck?”
Mirror: The story’s weird as hell, but also funny as hell. You can’t help but laugh while reading some of these lines. Yes, it makes no sense, but that’s what’s so great about it: its absurdity is hilarious. And the story doesn’t seem to take itself too seriously either. With a story like this, that’s perfect. If it did try and pass itself off as serious, it would lose something. Either that, or become even funnier. I don’t know. Actually, “I don’t know” is the best way to describe this story. “Bizarre” also works. But that’s what we think. What do you guys think? Was the story good? Was the Riff good? Do you wish we’d be replaced with horses? Leave your thoughts in the comments below.