Carlos had faced a lot of hardship in his horsy life. But by far the worst thing that had ever happened to him was when his girlfriend Shaniqua left him because she found out that he wasn’t’ really
Carlos had learned a valuable lesson- those who are white should not act like they are black. They should not dress like they are black, talk like they are black, rap like they are black, or wear
grills on their teeth like they are black. Those who do just make the world a terrible, terrible place.
So Carlos decided he was going to act as white as possible and shun all things black. He figured the best place to do this would be to start at the beginning in the king’s stables, where he had
been born and raised. But as Carlos was gallivanting through Europe, he stumbled upon a sign.
Want a new and better life?
Come to AMERICA, the land of opportunity and fat people
Carlos was excited. Perhaps this was the new start he was looking for. Perhaps he would find streets paved with gold, unlimited wealth, and a lifetime supply of Chex cereal. So he trotted aboard a
boat bound for New York City.
As it turned out, New York was kind of a crap city. There where homeless people everywhere, rats ran the streets, and the gangs spontaneously broke into perfectly choreographed song and dance. It
was so wrong.
And Carlos was poor. Much poorer than he had been in the king’s stables. Poorer than he had been while living with his lover, Chewbacca, and friends. Even poorer, in fact, then he had been while
living with Shaniqua and her four little bastard babies while she worked the streets for crack money.
Carlos hated being poor. He was a horse who liked to spoil himself with the finest food, wine, and Prada horseshoes.
“If you want to get rich,” said one grimy horse that was covered in rags and holding out a cup, “go down south. White horses like you are filthy rich down there.”
So Carlos made the journey south to Missouri. There weren’t a lot of white rich horses there, at least, not anymore. But he set up a residency and got a job as a Bed, Bath, and Beyond sales
One day, a black horse came into the store. Carlos had been avoiding black horses ever since his disaster with Shaniqua, and he was not happy seeing one now. He forced the horse out of the store.
“You don’t like dem black horses either, do ya?” asked a white horse who was passing by.
“I don’t care for them, no,” Carlos answered honestly.
“Well boy, we got a club here I think you’d like to join. We’re havin’ a barbeque tonight, and I think you should come.”
“Well…” muttered Carlos, “okay. Sounds like fun.”
So Carlos showed up at the barbeque that night. There were many horses sitting around, all in white. Carlos went up to the white horse, whose name was Jethrow.
“So Jethrow,” he said, “tell me what’s going on here.”
“Why certainly bud. I’ll give you the speech I give everyone:
“Grab a seat, have something to eat, help yourself, it’s alright. If you want a beer they’re over here, but we only have Coors Light. Try a chip with my homemade dip, the stuff is out of sight.
Right before bed, we’ll shave your head. Good to see you dressed in white.
“’Cause it’ a Klan Kookout.
“Here’s my wife/sister, she brightens up my day. She went away and I missed her, ‘cause my mom’s a lousy lay. Don’t hang with foreign fellows, it’ll only be your loss. Stay here and roast
marshmallows by the burning cross.
“’Cause it’s a Klan Kookout. Dan’s on lookout at the Klan Kookout.
“And if you’re black, don’t want to see your face. They’re like a high school track- just a stupid race. We got a plan, kill all the Jews. Are you a Mexican? Because you seem confused. Senor? Que
“It’s a Klan Kookout. Mein Kampf? Man, check that book out at the Klan Kookout.
“All men are created equal? Man, that shit gets me pissed. Here’s an idea for a sequel: someone looses Schindler’s list. I cook, I clean, ‘cause I’m the hooded host. And on Halloween I dress as
We hate Hispanics, hence the twenty foot walls. And all you goddamn dirty Catholics can cath-o-lick my balls. Ethnics give off weird aromas, and I can understand why we need high school diplomas
with the Bible in hand!”
“Wow,” said Carlos. “That’s intense.”
“What’s your name boy?”
“Carlos,” said Carlos.
“Carlos? CARLOS? Are you a MEXICAN?”
Carlos had to think fast. “Um, actually, Carlos is just my nickname. My real name is…Brigham.”
“Brigham, eh? That sounds alright.
Carlos/Brigham was, for the most part, happy. He spent his time tormenting the black horses as a way of silencing the black horse that still growled deep inside him. But there was one thing he
wasn’t comfortable with, and that was the violence.
One day as he was igniting a wooden cross on a black horse’s lawn, a man came up to him.
“My son, why do you do this?”
“I despise the black horses. They have ruined my life.
“As they have many a horse. But is violence really the answer?”
Carlos/Brigham hung his head in shame. “I am not comfortable with the violence, or the hate.
“Well,” said the man, “you should join me and my followers. Are you gay?”
“Not anymore,” answered Carlos/Brigham.
“Perfect!” said the man. “My name is Joseph, by the way. My followers and I are headed west. Would you like to join us?”
“Boy would I!” exclaimed Carlos/Brigham.
So Carlos/Brigham was once again heading west. It was a rough trip for Joseph and his followers- they battled rattle snakes, frigid nights, and rabid jackrabbits. Many followers were cursed with
influenza, insomnia, and indigestion. It was a very rough and very smelly trip.
Finally, they reached Utah, and by that time Joseph was so pissed off with his eight wives nagging him to stop and ask for directions that he just decided to set up camp there.
Joseph decided that Carlos/Brigham needed a woman or two. So, in desperation, he signed Carlos/Brigham up for The Dating Game.
The lights were bright. The crowd was loud. Bob Saget was as annoying as ever as the show began.
“Erm…” Carlos/Brigham started nervously. “What is your favorite color?
“Black,” said Contestant Number One.
“PINK!” said Contestant Number Two.
“Babies,” said Contestant Number Three.
“Okay,” said Carlos/Brigham. “If you could have any pet in the world, what would it be?”
“A bat,” said Contestant Number One.
“A CHIHUAHUA!” said Contestant Number Two.
“Babies,” said Contestant Number Three.
“Alrighty,” said Carlos/Brigham. “Here’s my final question. If you could choose one person to rule the world, who would it be?”
“Hitler,” said Contestant Number One.
“ME!” said Contestant Number Two.
“Babies,” said Contestant Number Three.
“Okay Brigham,” said Bob Saget, “now it’s time to choose. Contestant One, Two, or Three?”
“Wow, Bob,” said Carlos/Brigham. “This is a pretty hard choice. I’m not sure which one to choose.”
“That’s okay!” exclaimed Bob. “You can have them all!”
The first time Carlos/Brigham met his new wives was at their triple wedding. Contestant Number One turned out to be a twelve year old girl named Wednesday, who had pale skin and long, dark hair.
Contestant Number Two was a tall, tan blonde named Paris. And Contestant Number Three was a shorter, curvier girl with full lips named Nadia.
Carlos/Brigham enjoyed his life for a while, until his wives started having kids. In the span of three years, Nadia had fourteen kids. It was partially poor planning on her part, and partially the
doctor’s fault, but she ended up having eight kids at once. Paris had three children, but Carlos/Brigham was pretty sure none were his. One was black, one was a zebra, and he was pretty sure the
other was part chinchilla. Wednesday had also had a few babies, but they all suffered from Shaken Baby Syndrome. The doctor said it was genetic.
Carlos/Brigham downed his sorrows in wedding planning. He married the Spice Girls. He married the pink power ranger. He married the Victoria’s Secret angels. He married Carrie, Charlotte, Samantha,
and Miranda. He married Phoebe from Friends. He married the girl wearing the apple bottom jeans and the boots with the fur. He married Jenny From The Block. He married the twelve little girls that
lived in a house covered in vines, the twelve little girls that traveled in lines. They said their prayers and broke their bread and brushed their teeth and went to bed.
Carlos/Brigham had a problem. Carlos/Brigham was a marrige-aholic. And he also had no job, which kind of pissed his wives off. He was also messy, terrible in bed, inattentive, never thought things
through, ignored their advice, and listened to the Backstreet Boys.
And it was one, unsuspecting day in June that things took a turn for the worst.
Their periods synched up.
It was the biggest riot since the beer-and-radish shortage of 1611.
Though Carlos/Brigham had enjoyed his life of luxury, he knew that perhaps t was time to leave. The fact that the local grocer was out of chocolate pudding sealed the deal.
So Carlos/Brigham left Utah, never to return.
Except when he realized he had forgotten his hat.
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