June 2014
As my name Brian Horsethief suggests, I am a horse thief. When I’m not busy stealing stallions and other expensive equines, I write poetry, zombie lore, and short stories that contain my own unique brand of humorous horse nonsense. If you’re interested in hopping on a preposterous palomino, breaking out of the confines of the corral, and going on a wacky ride through the wide open fields of fun -- please contact me at my email address above.
A Lot of Talk
When people who like
to talk about ideas
talk to people who like
to talk about other people,
they change the subject
to the weather.
When people who like
to talk about other people
talk to people who like
to talk about ideas,
they just keep talking
about other people.
Every once in a while I use my 'poetic license' to print something other then a poem. Now is one of those times. It is -- therefore -- with utmost pride and pleasure that I present here one of Brian's hilarious Hideous Hilda's Zombie Advice columns -- as it originally appeared in THE ZOMBIE NEWS... --ed.
-- You Only Die Once --
HIDEOUS HILDA’S ZOMBIE ADVICE
DEAR HIDEOUS HILDA: I’m a male zombie who’s pushing fifty. I used to be so full of death until about six months ago. Since then, I’ve been suffering from decreased energy, a low sex drive, cold flashes, and loss of body parts. Do you think these are signs of anemia?
--REANIMATED ANEMIC
DEAR ANEMIC: Since you obviously eat plenty of red meat, I’m guessing that anemia is not your
problem, unless of course you’ve been bleeding externally. It seems to me that you’re suffering from what many male zombies your age complain about. Your symptoms all point to a classic case of low liveosterone. I suggest that you be a bit more selective when choosing your red meat. Try munching on men who have larger foreheads, pronounced brow ridges, larger noses, and squarer jaws. These macho specimens I’ve described are chock-full of liveosterone. After eating them for a couple of weeks, I’m sure you’ll be back to being your old stiff self again.
Wishing you a dievacious recovery,
Hideous Hilda
OOPS!
Time escapes me, trees shake me,
Pencils try to erase me.
Bullies dare me, clowns scare me,
Chopsticks often impale me.
Drugs waste me, dogs chase me,
Weaklings say they can take me.
Folks berate me, they forsake me,
Scissors try to castrate me.
Shoes lace me, dreams wake me,
Cheese has been known to grate me.
Losers date me, winners hate me,
God said Oops when he made me.
© 2014 Brian Horsethief