I wrote this story in year 11 in high school, it used to be in the Rants and Raves section of the old site and I'm adding it here mostly to test that the content system is actually working the way it should be. I may remember to remove it before we go live, I may forget, I may remember and not remove it anyway because despite the obvious immaturity; it's still pretty fucking hilarious.

Anyway, enjoy my twisted little work of fiction - it was a Year 11 TEE English assignment. Yes I submitted it, no I would not suggest anybody else do the same unless you particularly like being on a first name basis with the school psychologist.

As Boyd The Horsy emerged from the Kyrgyvstani clinic for sexually abused horses and joined the throng of people (and horses of course) hurrying down the busy sidewalk he cast his mind back to the fateful day that had led him to this place. Approximately six months ago Boyd The Horsy had been on a secret mission deep in the jungle of the Congo when he was captured and molested by both Jesse Martin and Peter Hollingworth at the same time. Boyd The Horsy was a field operative for the HBFHOJMCHISFUH (Horse Bureau For Harassment of Jesse Martin ‘Cos He Is So Freaking Up Himself) and had been sent (unfortunately in the HBFHOJMCHISUH there is no “should you choose to accept it”, if you don’t they shoot you in the butt cheeks with a nail gun) on a highly dangerous mission to track down Jesse Martin and make him eat his own poo. As Boyd The Horsy fought the terrible memories that came flooding back to him he found himself unable to repress them, he gave up and opened the floodgates letting the horrible memories wash over him like a sea of pain…

Boyd The Horsy was stalking through the jungle, unknown to anybody or anything nearby (he was making very good use of the natural stealth that all large animals are blessed with when moving through extremely dense jungle with little to no hiking skill), with the exception of the monkies, the snakes, the ducks, the guard relieving himself nearby, the three guys sitting a few metres away with submachine guns and a few other insignificant figures. Unfortunately at this point Boyd The Horsy started thinking about how ugly he thought Jesse Martin was and got so lost in his hatred that he lost his footing and face planted right into a big mound of meerkat poo (yes meerkats DO live in the jungle). Boyd The Horsy tried his best to recover quickly but being a down-syndrome horse has some distinct disadvantages and the nearby guards (who had been watching him the whole time) fell to and tied him up instantly, not even pausing to allow him to wipe the meerkat faeces out of his eyelashes (Boyd The Horsy was very proud of his eyelashes, this is part of the reason Jesse Martin hated him so much, because he envied Boyd The Horsy’s eyelashes).

Meanwhile, in his command tent approximately 500 metres away from the point where Boyd The Horsy was being captured, Jesse Martin was staring in the mirror. “My god, I’m looking even gayer today than I was yesterday!” He said to nobody in particular (not by choice but because he has no friends), “That’s just fantastic darling!” Bill Gates, Jesse’s homosexual lover for many years, was reclining on a nearby heart shaped couch and chimed in, “Actually Jess, you’re looking even uglier today as well, you really need to do something about those eyelashes…” At this moment the guards outside dragged Boyd The Horsy in by the tail (they had cut off all his legs and replaced them with wooden pegs so that they could play croquet with the bloodied stumps), “Oh my gawd, what do we have here?” Said Jesse in his incredibly irritating nasal voice.
Boyd The Horsy retorted, “I’m a freaking horse you raging homo, what do I look like, your pet dog?”
“Oh yes, now that you mention it the elongated snout, the mane, the tail, the place where your legs should be… you do look rather like a horse, it’s just that at first I mistook you for my mother…”
“YOU $H17 PANTS!” Screamed Boyd The Horsy, his eyes flashing with rage!
“Not before I have your eyelashes, they’re simply gorgeous, you look even cuter when you’re angry!”
“Oh my god!” Cried Boyd The Horsy.
“Boyd, I have just one more thing to say to you…” Jesse Martin purred.
“And what’s that?”
“I know somebody and they cry for you, they lie awake at night and dream of you, I bet you never even know they do, but somebody’s crying…” Jesse sang
“I’m going to vomit…”
“I know somebody and they call your name, a million times and still you never came, you go on loving them just the same, I know somebody’s trying…”
“That’s ah, nice.” Boyd stuttered.
“So pplleeeaaaaasseee, return the love, that you took from me…”
“No, it’s mine now!”
“Give me a sign and let me know we’re through, if you don’t love me like I love you, but if you cry and act the way I do, I know that somebody’s lying…”
Boyd passed out from pure terror.
“Ahh, Jesse Martin, you do realise that Chris Isaac is gay?” Asked Bill Gates.
“Yes, he’s my idol!”

Boyd The Horsy awoke to a scene straight from the seventh circle of hell. He was lying (as much as a horse with no legs can lie) tied to a large, heart shaped (surprisingly enough) bed that had been covered in pink silken sheets. But it was not the bed itself that had Boyd The Horsy shaking from fear (it would take more than the thought he was lying on the same sheets that Jesse Martin and Bill Gates had frolicked on to overcome his special HBFHOJMCHISFUH fear control training), it was the fact that the walls of the room were covered entirely of autographed pictures of Jesse Martin either standing on his stupid boat or hobnobbing with various prominent homosexual personalities. Boyd The Horsy was quivering with fear, perspiration running off his flanks in rivers, what kind of psychopath could create such a shrine in order to worship themselves! It was an abomination, Boyd The Horsy decided that he must live and escape (with his eyelashes intact), if for no other reason than to inform the HBFHOJMCHISFUH of this atrocity. Of course running away with no legs is difficult at the best of times so Boyd The Horsy set his considerable intellect onto the task of formulating a plan (when I say considerable, I mean considerable for a horse, so in reality, Boyd The Horsy was thick as two short planks, that is to say, very).

Boyd The Horsy was unsure how many hours he lay (as much as a horse with no legs can lie) quivering with fear, tied to that bed. As Boyd The Horsy formulated plan after plan and discarded them just as quickly he became acutely aware of the fact that he was extremely hungry, in fact he would have given his right leg to have his legs back so he could chew a bit off one of them as he normally did when he was hungry. Unfortunately Boyd The Horsy didn’t have his either of his right legs anymore so it wasn’t much of an option, he didn’t even have a left so he couldn’t strike a bargain with a more “down-market” leg dealer. Just as Boyd The Horsy was pondering the intricacies of leg mercantilism he became aware of the scent of women’s perfume in the room, he turned his head and saw Jesse Martin walking towards him, at his right hand side was the king of evil, the kind of person who spent the 70s play Deep Purple LPs backwards and committing other less-than-legal acts that the Anglican clergy seem to be doing a lot of lately… Peter Hollingworth…

As they strutted into the room in their tight leather pants and matching pink shirts Boyd The Horsy was struck by just how gay Jesse Martin and Peter Hollingworth really were, it was incredible. Boyd The Horsy had about thirty seconds to ponder his fate before Jesse produced an item of pure terror, an object that struck fear into the hearts of all at a mere glance, an object of such pure evil that it’s creation should never have been allowed - EYELASH CURLERS! Boyd The Horsy didn’t even have time to cry out before Jesse was upon him destroying his beautiful eyelashes whilst Peter Hollingworth laughed manically in the background. Some hours later, after Jesse Martin and Peter Hollingworth had completed numerous sadistic and depraved acts - things like the removal of Boyd The Horsy’s tail and it’s replacement with a donkey’s, the shaving of their initials into his fur, the replacement of his peg legs with bright pink batons and several other unmentionable acts, Boyd The Horsy lay (as much as horse with no legs can lie) in a puddle of his own tears - so far all he’d had time to register was the mutilation of his eyelashes, he hadn’t even thought to cry over the other acts.

As Jesse Martin and Peter Hollingworth made their way to the door of the room and Boyd The Horsy lay pondering his fate (which was looking fairly bleak, no matter how optimistic you are) a human figure dropped through the roof of the room (which was really a section of Jesse’s command tent), of course this always happens in heart-stopping adventure stories where the author gets bored and is looking for a quick way to end it. The human figure was in fact Yagan, a close personal friend of Boyd The Horsy for many years and he speared both Jesse Martin and Peter Hollingworth before they even knew he was standing behind them.

Yagan ran to Boyd The Horsy’s side, he said “Don’t worry, and you’ll be fine, it’s only a matter, a matter of time…” and helped him to his pink-batons-that-now-served-as-legs-and-feet and led him out the door into the bivouac. And so Yagan and Boyd The Horsy began the long and arduous journey through the sweltering Jungles of the Congo back to Kyrgyvstani.

Boyd The Horsy snapped out of his reverie and realised he had just trampled a camel because he had tripped over a dolphin lying passed out on the concrete because he had overdosed on morphine supplied to him by a duck who had stolen it from a hospital where he worked as a nurse, just like nurse Retterath. “Oh well”, thought Boyd The Horsy, such is life.

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