Things I don’t like, Item 1: Pre-adolescent girls who are overly obsessed with horses.

Nobody likes large animals that much, that early in life. Parents, here’s a hint: someone’s in a screwing mood.

Who hasn’t been stuck by having to listen to a middle-schooler being over-enthused about a subject matter? Hearing some little girl clumsily veiling her budding curiosity of her body under the auspices of wanting a pony makes for an awkward moment for everyone within earshot and responsibility.

That staccato, breathy appeal is the sound of an ill-constructed lie, formed by one who doesn’t realize that asking your folks for a horse in front of other relatives, friends of the family and guests in the hopes of mounting group approval tells everyone you’re in the market for The Pill. It’s like verbally humping someone’s leg.

No – It ain’t about having responsibility. If your daughter wants to take care of something that large, stupid, and smells like shit and piss, have her spend her summers volunteering in an old-folks-home in the South one summer. Making her sponge-bathe some 300-pound redneck women who’ve been diabetic since 25 ought to be a sufficient bluff-call.

Besides, I’ve got to believe that there are more efficient ways to break your hymen at 12 that do not include having to wake up at 4 in the morning just to shovel shit out of a stall. You don’t have to brush down a dildo; no one ever worries about riding a vibrator hard and putting it away wet: glass-filled polycarbonate’s pretty chemical resistant.

For real: isn’t the word “dressage” just a contraction of the words “dick” and “massage”?

I’d just wish that there’d be one little girl in America who’d up and fess up to her folks, “Ma, Pa, could you get me a horse ‘cause I just like the rocking feel of being fucked without the actual act of penetration. That, and I could use a saddle made out of tampon material, ‘cause if you think that flies swarm on a horse now, wait till you have its back drenched in menses. Big thanks.”