Jake Goldman Will Throw You Into A Volcano

What if every morning, when you woke up and then left for work, there was a guy standing on the other side of your door and every morning he was like “Hey. Come ride this horse I just found.” (note: every morning he finds a new horse and by nightfall, somehow ‘misplaces’ that horse but that’s the thing about horses: there’s always more to find). And every morning you’re like “Yo, should I?” but you don’t because you’re not quite sure if that’s a fire-able offense, and, see most likely it isn’t but then you’re going to be seen as the crazy person who accepted a ride on a stray horse owned by a guy who has jelly beans taped to his shirt. (and there’s a bunch ‘o beans hidden in his pubes but you haven’t actually seen it. He just offers this information freely to you. In fact, after he says the first sentence about riding the horse he notices you eyeing the candy and says “There’s more of that. In my nut hair.”) And, so, you don’t ride the horse because reputation is everything, right? But then you start thinking about that. Like what does that mean? Reputation? Really, ultimately, it’s whatever you want it to be. And right now, every morning, you’re letting some dicks in cubicles nudge you into the safe decision of not ditching work to ride a horse, side-saddle. Always side-saddle. So under used. It’s like sitting on a roving bench. The houses zip by you like speeding filmstrips. But look. HEY. LOOK. I get it. You’re never going to ride the horse to just RIDE the horse. You’re doing it so you can say how crazy this thing was that happened. The second your ass hits that soft, silken back, your milky mind fast forwards to friends crowded around plastic pitchers of beer, your hands out in front of you, their eyes following you like cats stalking a fly. Look, just ride the fucking horse. And eat the jelly beans. He’s clean.