The Blood-Eating Horses of Tibet

Horses and COACISSW have a long history together. From Guy Vanderhaeghe's lovely description of horse-entry in the Last Crossing to Reverend Joseph Goiffon's riveting true story of survival. Horses are, in many ways, the classic animal to cut open and crawl inside to survive a storm in the wild.

However, the relationship has had its share of controversy. Anonymous contributors to this blog have gone so far as to suggest that the horse should have cut open Reverend Goiffon, instead of the other way around, calling into question my "small-minded assertion that man is more deserving of life than horse." They submitted this photo of a shetland pony gazing into the camera as evidence. It seems that the cuteness of horses, and their supposed docility (promoted by the Big Horse Lobby and generations of little girls) have warped our society's perception of what is, at its heart, a vicious beast.

Well no more!

Deadly Equines, one of the most important books of our era, puts to rest these myths by detailing one horse-commited atrocity after another: The Man Eater of Lucknow, Rysdyk-killer of four, the Blood-Eating Horses of Tibet, Sir Ernest Shackleton's voracious Manchurian Socks, and the unfaithful mares of Kind Diomedes. The Deadly Equines site is full of helpful information on the subject, including a Map of Meat-Eating and Killer Horses, showing exactly where and when horse crimes were committed. For too long communities from Antarctica to Yemen have suffered in silence.

So, to anonymous I say this: sure those big buttery eyes may look friendly, but behind them lurks the cold calculating mind of a killer, waiting to strike. A horse will kill you for no reason, just for sport. If a storm is boiling on the horizon, strike fast, strike hard, strike before the horse strikes you. If you find yourself hesitating, just remember how Diomedes met his end.

Hagrid

Here at COACISSW we generally adhere to a strict no cutting-open-humans-and-crawling-inside-to-survive-a-storm-in-the-wild policy. However, in the timeless words of Spock just before he ventured into the lethally irradiated engineering room of the starship Enterprise, "The good of the many outweighs the good of the few, or the one."

Now imagine you are trapped in the Forbidden Forest, a massive storm--possibly natural, possibly the work of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named--is brewing on the horizon. Acromantulas are closing in and the Arania Exumai spell isn't working to hold them back. And there, at your side, is Hagrid: twice as tall and five times as wide as the average man. His barrel-like chest cavity capable of sheltering your entire party for the duration of the storm.

Plus, he's half giant, so he isn't really a human at all.

Hagrid is friendly and softhearted. Use these qualities against him. Begin to cry, bemoaning your approaching demise. Tell him of all the things you wish you had done, the mountains you would have climbed, the tournaments of wizardry you would have won, the animals you would have treated more kindly, the man or woman you would have kissed. Ask him for a hug.

Sneak your blade into your sleeve and wrap your arms around his neck (be sure to get them under all that hair). As he's squeezing and comforting you, draw out your blade and jam it into his throat with all your strength. This first cut is crucial--Hagrid is quite strong. If you don't wound him terminally with the first strike he'll shake you free and stomp you to dust. Be sure to sever the carotid artery.

There will be fountains of blood. Leap out of the way. Let him tire himself out staggering around trying to staunch it. Ignore his pleas for mercy and his bellows of "Why? Why?" When he collapses, roll him onto his back, slice open his chest, remove his big warm heart, and crawl inside. The acromantulas will leave you alone safely inside their beloved friend, and the storm will pass.

Hurricane Irene! Emergency Post!

This is our moment people! An apocalyptic swirl is hurtling up the eastern seaboard carving a swath of death and destruction. Three people are already dead. Hundreds of millions more will probably follow. Thirty foot waves, crippling rain, and 100 MPH winds that turn every lawn ornament into a hurtling death missile are coming for your family. The hurricane is the size of Europe, but unlike Europe it's actually threatening. It's every man, woman, and child for themselves.

An 'expert' on CNN just advised everyone to get to their safe room. He's a damn fool. Room's aren't safe. What holds them together? Nails. Razor sharp steel blades just waiting for the moment a hurricane frees them from bondage so they can ravage you and all those you love. Get out of your house! Get out of your apartment! Get outside before it's too late!

Our only hope is to cut open an animal and crawl inside to survive the storm in the wild.

For over a year I've been compiling a list of animals suitable for cutting open and crawling inside to survive a storm in the wild. Grab your blade, consult the list, and get out there. Personally, I've been filling my NYC building's patio with trash for the past hour. The rats are already starting to come. I hope to kill a hundred or so of them to create a safe, warm, nail-less shelter from which to weather this bitch Irene.

Chickenosaurus

Good news on the UPADFPMBSPA front today. Jack Horner, the white-haired scientist who gets everybody killed in Jurassic Park, has announced that he's creating a chickenosaurus!

"This is all about attempting to satisfy the aspirations of 6th graders (and children of all ages) and bring back dinosaurs," he writes. Ah the whimsy of an aging megalomaniac! It's so refreshing in this age of 'no you can't hatch your alligator bird because of ethical concerns.' Yes I can! Horner says.

I'm on the record supporting any and all UPADFPMBSPA research. Create them, hatch them, wait for a storm, and slice 'em open, is my opinion. My only concern is that we end up with something adorable like the allifrog.

It's painfully obvious to anyone who's spent time tromping around in the woods lately that there aren't enough vicious beasts with man-sized chest cavities roaming around. The cities are even worse--full of fat people bloating in the sun, surrounded by pigeons. We're going soft, America. Politicians would be wise to take notice and surreptitiously fund the work of the great Dr. Horner. If a couple velociraptors get loose in DC next fall it will certainly take people's mind off the economy.

120 Pound Rat (This Damnable Epoch)

The economic constraints of this damnable epoch forced me to relocate to a soul-sucking urban shit-center, dampening my connection to the wild survivalist cause of cutting open an animal and crawling inside to survive a storm in the wild. I've spent a year in a concrete wasteland ducking into liquor stores to survive storms. I thought there was nothing but drifters to cut open, and then an article caught my eye.

A 120 pound rat (apparently it's proper name is a capybara, but a rat is a rat) was found in a wastewater treatment plant outside Paso Robles, in Central California. A sewer rat large enough to cut open and crawl inside. The very thought had me rushing home to sharpen my blade.

Running through the street, I noticed several manhole covers and realized that every one is a portal to a wild subterranean kingdom, rife with sliceable beasts. A perfect haven in the event of apocalyptic storms or nuclear fallout. I was tempted to clench my knife in my teeth and leap down, sunny afternoon be damned.

I did some more research and, judging by this video, once you catch a giant rat subduing it shouldn't be a problem.

The lesson here, my friends, is that no matter where life takes you it is possible that you will have to cut open an animal and crawl inside to survive a storm in the wild, and when that time comes, the animal you need will be there. Whether it's lurking in the sewer or leashed to your neighbor's porch. Have faith. Don't hesitate. Remain strong of heart and quick with blade.