Indeed. Because we certainly have at least one of the Four Horses of the Apocalypse silently reigning his own brand of veiny terror on Denver Airport, much to the chagrin of its creeped-out locals, and the occasional Denver-bound Philistine.* But seriously, who doesn’t want to see a 32 foot-high blue mustang with a couple of kicky front legs and RED LASER EYEBALLS out of the window of an aeroplane? (Which by the way is suspended in space entirely by magic/physics until a bunch of geese decide they want their airspace back.) That giant shit-eating grin means he’s managed to trample his Apocalyptic Horseman into oblivion just like that time he killed his own sculptor by conveniently letting a massive piece of horse torso fall and crush his tiny mortal body. Because who needs humans anyway.
And yet despite the various anti-Mustang Facebook pages and the ‘Heinous Blue Mustang Haiku Challenge,’ (only in Colarado…) that frightening otherworldly mess is guaranteed to be a fixture in Denver until at least 2013, according to the city’s public art law stipulating that it has five years to win the people over, after which I assume it will break free and spread famine and pestilence across the Earth in one fell (Apocalyptic) swoop. Bitches currently studying medicine or saving up for a really expensive pony had better find something quicker to do because this shit’s all over in five years. Probably.
But this does beg the question, while Apocalyptic Horse # 1 is happily acting out his role in Denver as a giant red-eyed harbinger for the end of the world, where are the other Apocalyptic Horses spending their downtime? Not in my backyard, prancing around and letting me feed them sugar cubes, that’s for sure. Because dandelions don’t work. No, it turns out they’re doing what any supernatural equine with a hellish disposition would do. They chase and bite things with cute faces:
When Apocalypse Horse # 2 gets done trampling little Ricardo right down into the snow like a helpless sapling, he’ll be straight back on the phone to China to hurry WWIII along with some malicious gossip. Sometimes his throat will get sore from whinnying bullshit, but that’s nothing a quick standing-nap can’t fix.
Apocalypse Horse # 3 will begin stockpiling anthrax in his Apocalyptic stable after he hands Prancer’s yappy arse to him with an Apocalyptic headbutt.
And Apocalypse Horse # 4 will go back to eating babies when poor Crackers trips over his own paws and loses his tail and both back legs to some Apocalyptic horse teeth.
So next time you see some rabid horse chasing a dog through a paddock and you’re thinking to yourself, “Motherfucker, that’s totally uncalled-for,” chances are that shit is Apocalyptic and you’d better hope it doesn’t lose interest and set its RED LASER EYEBALLS on you instead. (Having said that, they’re still totally welcome in my backyard.)
* But not business development manager, Stan Ryland, from Huntington Beach, who insists, “That’s what horses in the wild look like.” Although in this case “Huntington Beach” is code for THE VERY DEPTHS OF HELL.