FictionH. Millard

All Horses Bleed Red Blood: A Lesson About Race

by H. Millard

I RECEIVED A most interesting call on my phone the other day from none other than Joey Bigears.

Now, Mr. Bigears has been on my missing persons list for a couple of years and I suspect that he may have been on the lam, but I am not one to inquire of such things as I do not wish to intrude into the personal life of Mr. Bigears, he being a stout fellow and a stand up guy and one known to resort to fisticuffs or an ever-present shiv — several of which he usually has secreted on his person — when he gets agitated. But I do not wish to digress.

“Hey Boss,” says the unmistakable voice of Joey Bigears coming out of my phone. “Ya gotta see what I just bought. See, I figure, that youse being a guy what knows yer way around and how to negotiate stuff that I can cut youse in on a deal I got working.”

So, Joey Bigears tells me of his present location, which I will not repeat, lest my perception of him being on the lam is correct and lest this information fall into the wrong hands. However, I do proceed to the location of which I am apprised. And, what do I see upon my arrival at the aforesaid unspoken location, but Mr. Bigears standing next to an Equus ferus caballus.

This, of course, was no great surprise to me as I had already given such a likelihood a high probability in my mind based on the nature of the unspoken location relayed to me by Mr. Bigears.

“This is Greased Lightning, Boss,” says Joey Bigears with a broad smile on his face. “I just bought him from some guys who needed cash fast. They say he is a thoroughbred race horse. Now, for reasons I do not wish to divulge at present, I cannot be seen around no race tracks, and the other guys living here ain’t too sharp, so I naturally thought of youse and I figure you can be the front man and get Greased Lightning into some races so we can make some clams.”

“Joey Bigears,” says I, to Joey Bigears, after I take a couple of seconds to look at Greased Lightning, “you have bought yourself a plow horse, not a race horse. From the looks of Greased Lightning, I suspect he is a Suffolk Punch. He is thus strong, but also not very fast.”

“Hey Boss, all horses bleed red blood, ya know. All we gotta do is teach him to run real fast. You know, kinda like what humans do to help some kids learn as much as other kids with that — what’s it called? — Head Start stuff. Yeah, see, we will just do a Head Start racing program for Greased Lightning. We will teach him to run as fast as race horses.”

“Mr. Bigears,” I reply, “Head Start is a failure. It does not work and you can not teach a plow horse to be a race horse. Different breeds of horses have different natural abilities. It is in their genes. And, do not be dismayed, my dear Mr. Bigears, as I tell you that the same principle applies to humans.

“And, Mr. Bigears, I do not wish to be accusatory, but with my big brain and my advanced state of consciousness and intuition I have ascertained as a tentative theory based on your most recent palaver, of no more than a few seconds ago, that you may have been in the company of liberals who have told you nonsense and filled your brain with platitudes that are meaningless soporifics used to trick easily suggestible people clustered around the center of the Bell Curve on intelligence.

“Mr. Bigears, of course all horses bleed red blood. So do all mice and cats and dogs and other mammals. However, this means nothing in the present context in which you and I are conversing as two gentlemen of our esteemed stature are often want to do. Greased Lightning cannot compete in races against race horses any more than they can compete in pulling contests against him.

“My suggestion, Mr. Joey Bigears, is that you run real fast to get away from liberals as quickly as possible. And, my further suggestion is that you do this by way of shank’s mare, instead of riding on Greased Lightning, because you can probably run faster than your horse.

“Remember, Mr. Bigears, stay away from liberals. They have twisted and deformed tiny brains, and have no understanding of Nature and Nature’s ways for living organisms. If you wish, you may sell Greased Lightning to liberals. If they tell you he is not a race horse, just tell them that all horses bleed red blood and that it is racist to think that different breeds of horses are different from each other. In their fear of being called ‘racists’ they may quickly buy Greased Lightning.”

* * *

©2018 H. Millard

Ourselves Alone & Homeless Jack’s Religion: Messages of Ennui and Meaning in Post-American America by H. Millard — In this book, H. Millard, the hard-to-pigeonhole author of The Outsider and Roaming the Wastelands, has put together some of his category-bending commentaries on post-American America. They deal with politics, philosophy, free speech, genocide, religion and other topics in Millard’s edgy style — and lead up to “Homeless Jack’s Religion,” in which Homeless Jack lays out revelations he found in a dumpster on skid row. ISBN-10: 0-595-32646-3

Roaming the Wastelands by H. Millard — The groundbreaking novel of post-American America and of a life-affirming philosophy that is beyond left and right. From Chapter 1: “There are some among us who can’t help but listen to a different drummer. The drumming they hear is from their DNA. Some try to block it out, but it is heard in the blood which has no ears that can be covered to stop the sound that is not a sound. It is a call of the wild from centuries past to the wild in some humans. Those who try to deny the drummer are doomed to unhappy lives, for they are denying what they were born to be.” ISBN-10: 0-595-22811-9

The Outsider by H. Millard — Non-conformist and alienated, Buck wanders alone through a post-American America seeking meaning and the authentic. H. Millard’s iconoclastic, sacred-cow-toppling essays and fiction have appeared in everything from the high-IQ society Mensa’s publications to newspapers and magazines. Follow the linked title or get it by telephone: 1-877-823-9235. ISBN-10: 0-595-19424-9

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