humour, music, life, sociology. friendly agnostic.

Posts Tagged ‘Horse With No Name’

Clan of the Horse Passage Hunters

Posted by spritzophrenia on July 23, 2010

The following spoof might make no sense unless you’ve read one of Jean M. Auel’s novels. I wrote this some time ago after reading the first three.


Clan of the Horse Passage Hunters

She paused at the bottom of the slope to study the plants that grew there: Starchy roots, cat-tail, thistle, licorice fern, folderol, wild onion, lily corms, stinging nettle, flax seeds, opium poppies, red grass, yellow grass, wild carrot, thick stringy grass the mammoths liked, short tender shoots for the horses, sweet potato, venus flytrap, cannabis, triffid, rhubarb rhubarb rhubarb. Sometimes the variety of the Great Mother’s creation overwhelmed her.

She turned and whistled to her horse, “Horse”. “There you are Horse”, she smiled. She mounted in one swift leap, her perfectly coiffed blonde hair shimmering in the sun as on they travelled. On and on they went. On and on and on. And on some more.

Alyar noticed the hoofprints that Horse had left in the sand at the rivers end. She noticed Horse’s turds behind them. She noticed all the many alluvial deposits along the bank. “Oh Great Mother, No!”, she mouthed silently, accompanied by secret clan signs. “Not another turgid monologue about the windswept climate of the plains. Can’t we just find some animal to slaughter instead?”

Laughing Horse

“Oh, will we ever see people again? Will I ever see Dorc again? Will the plot ever rise from a plod to some kind of pace?”


Jondullard was standing in front of her, looking concerned. He wiped grease and blood off his great, tanned, manly hair-covered chin and looked at her with his strange piercing blue eyes, eyes that could make any woman want him, eyes that were an icy blue in summer yet contained hints of sky, star, ocean, river, …

“Alyar? You’re off in the spirit world again. Is something wrong?” he murmured.

A warmth that still managed to make her shiver washed over her body, and she noticed his glorious manhood straining against his leather g-string. How she wanted him, he was the best. Their pleasures were always good. They had to be, inserted every couple of chapters as they were, to keep the monotony of their journey from killing the reader of boredom.

Posted in humor, humour, music, writing | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments »