Hobbles The Broken Horse

It's a little known fact that I myself am not the only person that contributes to the piles and piles of internet gold that I crank out consistently on this site. Sure, it may seem effortless to churn out the world-changing journalistic masterpieces I produce week after week, like some sort of industrial comedic machine.

But alas, my secret is out. I do not work alone on all that you read on this site.

In order to give credit where credit is due, let me introduce to you my co-writer / partial inspiration: Hobbles the Broken Horse.

I don't care if he's a horse; he's still funnier than most of you.

Our History

As you can tell, Hobbles is approximately seven shades of fucked up, but he wasn't like this when I met him. I met Hobbles on a brief stay in Hoboken, New Jersey. I was there on business helping to set up a crystal-meth lab in a man's basement. I walked outside to pinch a loaf on the man's lawn, as he spent all his money on the DIY meth lab and hence had no money for the water bill.

As I was dropping my trousers (not pants, as taking a dump on a man's lawn deserves all the culture and class that the word trousers bestows),  I happened to look across the street and saw this horse drop a double-hoof into some pimp's face shortly after the pimp got upset that Hobbles banged his hooker and attempted to pay in 'horse money'.

Not 24 hours later, Hobbles had been found by the pimp's crew, who systematically used what appeared to be makeshift Dremel to remove two of Hobbles' legs, and half of one ear. For spite they even spit into his right eye, rendering it useless.

Despite the severe combat disadvantage that missing half your limbs and depth-perception imposes, Hobbles still managed to beat the lackeys to death with a giant silicone female horse rear end that he keeps around for the lonely nights.

At this point I knew Hobbles was just the badass assistant I needed, but would he be any good at my sophisticated brand of humor?

With his permission I'm releasing to you the transcripts of a conversation I had with Hobbles about his future role in this website.

	Hobbles, I'm glad you could make it in today to talk about joining the team. Although, according to my watch you were supposed to be here like 25 minutes ago.
	Motherfucker, I'm a horse with two damn wooden banisters for legs. I'm supposed to be dog food right now, and as such they don't make prosthetic horse legs you sack of fuck, cut me some slack.
	A thousand pardons my good....horse. Many people have asked me, and I myself am curious as well, as to why if you only have one functioning eye do you still have to wear the blinder?
	Four words for you, buddy: I'll fucking kill you. But in all seriousness, I'm apt to go ape-shit on you at the drop of a hat. Here, take a gander at this....

	When these two lesbians tried to pet me, I just lost it. The one on the left managed to climb onto me, but I fucked up that one on the right proper.
	That's very impressive, given your mobility restrictions coupled with the known fiestyness of lesbians....especially pack lesbians. Were you always such an ass kicker and name taker, or was this more of a recent development coupled to the attack on you?
	I've always been a high-strung individual. When I was young, I used to be a training horse at a kids summer camp...helping them to learn how to use animals as their own personal chauffeurs and all that good shit.

You can almost taste the excitement that I was giving off in this photo. Instead of just sliding it on, and not minding like all they other horses did, I'd wait until night time when the campers were asleep and gently pull one of the boys of out his bunk and drag him down by the river. There, I would place his leg between two rocks and jump up and down on it until it snapped. It usually only took one jump. I, of course, never got into any trouble for this as no one in their right mind would believe the child that one of their lovable animals would bust his leg like a piñata. They fed the children so much bullshit about how milk would make your bones strong, that I just had to find out if that was true or not. I'm going with not.

	...and you never....say....felt bad afterwards?
	One time I felt kind of gassy. Does that count? Bad gas feels bad.
	I can't really argue with that logic. What kind of contribution do you think you could make the team here?
	Well, if someone saw you and said "hey, your website sucks", I'd kick them in the jaw. Oh! And, I'm great at coming up with custom slurs and violent curse words to add color to the website.
	Really? Allow me to throw a hypothetical situation your way, and let's see what comeback you come up with. You approach a four-way intersection behind an elderly person/asian woman/cat that can drive a car and they clearly don't know how to properly negotiate the stop. They sit there for 45 seconds waiting for someone else to go, despite having the right of way. What would you say?
	Well, first off...if it was a cat driving the car...fuck cats. Simple as that. But I suppose I'd roll down the window, and yell something to the effect of "Hey! Put your foot on the accelerometer or I swear to baby Christ that I will remove an eye from your eye socket and piss in your brain!"
	I think you'll do fine. Just fine. Welcome to the team.

Everything from that point on was pure magic...in website form