I Have A Dream: To Eat A Kentucky Derby-Winning Horse

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Vol 39 Issue 49

Bush Won't Put Down New Football

WASHINGTON, DC—According to White House sources, President Bush has not allowed his new Wilson official NFL leather game football to leave his sight since he received it as a gift last week. "The president has that ball with him everywhere he goes," Vice-President Dick Cheney said Monday. "The way he pump-fakes it in the Oval Office is really distracting." Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld has threatened to take the ball away and lock it in his desk if he sees it at the table during another goddamned cabinet meeting.

Author Accepts Award On Ghostwriters' Behalf

CONCORD, NH—Former Secretary of State Alexander Haig accepted the Worthington Literary Award on behalf of his four ghostwriters Tuesday for his book No Victory. "It is with humble gratitude that I accept this great honor," Haig said, graciously speaking for the team of writers who wrote the 435-page account of his unsuccessful bid for the 1988 Republican presidential nomination. "I appreciate that you have taken the time to consider what I had to say on the...subject matter of this book." Haig has not touched his Apple IIe since 1994 and spends most of his time hot-air ballooning in Naples.

Turkey Sandwich Given Locally Relevant Name

FAIRMOUNT, IN—For the 87,836th time, a turkey sandwich was given a locally relevant name, Mary Anne's Café owner Mary Anne Gunday reported Monday. "'The Hoosier Special' isn't just a turkey with lettuce, tomato, and mayo on your choice of bread," Gunday said. "It's a tribute to the state of Indiana and its inhabitants." Gunday recommended eating the sandwich with a bowl of steaming Birthplace Of James Dean Tomato Noodle Soup.

Vacationing Couple To Try Something They Don't Like

CANCUN, MEXICO—During their two-week winter holiday, Howard and Rosemary Gortenski of Arlington Heights, IL, have signed up for scuba lessons, even though both suspect that they will dislike the activity, the couple reported Tuesday. "Howard doesn't like to get his head wet, and I just don't see the point of getting all dressed up just to go under water for an hour," Gortenski said. "But vacations are for breaking out of the routine to experience what life has to offer, so I guess we have to try something new. It's this week or never." Gortenski said she'll make sure to secure some photos as proof of the couple's spontaneity.

Drinking Responsibly During The Holidays

The holiday season is a time to enjoy family dinners, office parties, and get-togethers with friends. Festive drinks and tasty punches often contribute to the holiday revelry, so here are some tips to help you celebrate sensibly:
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I Have A Dream: To Eat A Kentucky Derby-Winning Horse

Brothers and sisters.

Nearly two-score years ago, the Creator gave me life, and the wheels of my destiny were irreversibly set into motion. Friends, I am a simple man, an ordinary man, a man like any other. Yet for months now, I have been seized with the desire to enact a plan so grand and extraordinary that its very fearsomeness often makes me tremble. It's a vision so blazing that it sometimes overcomes me, and all else is blotted out, and when I come to, I can feel hot tears rolling down my face. But this dream is no nightmare, my friends. Rather, it has imbued my life with purpose and drive, and I have little doubt that I shall see it realized.

I have a dream, brothers and sisters, to one day eat a Kentucky Derby winner.

Be it princely steed or serene filly, I dream of the day when an equine victor will pass through my digestive system. A champion whose hard-charging gait once thrilled the throngs at Churchill Downs shall be masticated by me with great relish and gusto. This I vow.

I realize that some of you may object to the consumption of horseflesh. But the only anxiety I feel stems from this: I do not know which horse to choose. For, my friends, the surviving pool of Derby winners offers many options. Take, for example, the capricious 2002 winner War Emblem. His sinewy neck and shoulders could feed me for days. A mere glimpse of the flanks of this year's underdog gelding Funny Cide causes me to drool like a faucet. The powerful haunches of Monarchos, or Go For Gin, clearly belong in my stomach. But then one must consider that a seasoned veteran like Alysheba, long put out to stud, might afford gustatory delights of a more subtle variety. And just imagine the fetlocks of Silver Charm, the 1997 winner and one of the leading money-earners of all time, wedged between two pieces of white bread.

I cannot tell you why God has made this my life's mission. All I know is that it must be brought to fruition.

Owners, breeders, trainers of these singular competitors, let it be known that I will do anything to be granted the privilege of devouring your prize racehorse. Some of you may recognize me as the guy who stands outside your training tracks and breeding farms holding a fork and knife and wearing a bib. But my offers could not be more earnest. Make me your eternal slave; take my eyes and donate them to a blinded loved one of yours; make my own mother your docile concubine—I will surrender everything I have for a steaming platter of laureled stallion.

It may interest the gracious ladies and gentlemen of track and turf to learn that, should I obtain one of these glorious creatures, no part of it shall be wasted. What is not readily consumable shall be skinned, tanned, plucked, shorn, de-boned, pickled, boiled, and otherwise rendered. Then it will be eaten. I will clean and return the horseshoes.

I address my appeal to anyone who has had a fervent dream, one that makes all other ambitions seem wan and weak. For I, too, have had grand schemes that I thought could not be topped. I remember how, not long ago, I pledged to take a black fine-point Sharpie and fill in the circles of all of the letters and numbers in every book in the Baltimore Public Library system. I abandoned that dream to pursue a more exciting life's goal: to find and burn every existing copy of Prevention magazine. Then I decided that I must find the match to every unpaired sock at Goodwill. Yet all of these dizzying aims pale in comparison to the prospect of eating a big old horse.

I know my dream seems impossible. But if you join with me in endorsing and supporting it, together we can keep hope alive. Keep hope alive, children.

Keep hope alive that I shall tear apart and swallow the taut, lean flesh of the great thoroughbred.

Keep hope alive that I shall one day gnaw on its hooves and hocks, and suck the marrow from its bones.

Keep hope alive that the pointers offered in my copy of Fundamentals Of Home Butchering can apply as much to horses as they do to sheep, pigs, and rabbits.

If we keep this hope alive, brothers and sisters, we will live to see the fateful day when a Derby victor shall nourish a lone and humble man.

Giddyap, horsey.

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