But even after the horse is shot, it rises again...
In the name of horsey, the malevolent, the merciless...
Chapter 2 The horse
And yea, the horse was quartered, and there was much jubilation in gainesville. But the preacher, and the saint, and pope, verily they were pissed off. So the preacher and the saint departed on a pilgrimage. And they entered the holy place of Manhattan, and saw that it was good. In the holy land they drank and smoked and stared at bitches, and this also they saw was good. Yet all things of this Earth pass unless they suck. And the preacher and the saint were forced to return to hell. Your holiness said the preacher truly we must leave this awful place and live in the holiness of rock and roll. "Shut up, Vic," sayeth the saint in reply. And thusly the preacher was silent. Then sayeth the preacher your mother needs to stop taking donkey cum enemas. "Fuck you, Vic," sayeth the saint in reply. And thus it was that they declareth the intent to fly. And indeed all of the shoe gazer infidels did mock them, saying "awesome, they are leaving." But though they were to go, a statement had they to make. So it was that the preacher speaketh to the saint, and sayeth A last show in this place must be played. Yet we are too stupid to remember the songs. What shall we do? And the saint sayeth, "covers". Girl covers sayeth preacher. And so it came to be that the preacher calleth the pope on the phone, and sayeth take up thy bass and thy amplifiers, mount Elmo's mother, lead the revolt, I shall taketh thee to the promised land. "Okay," sayeth the pope. Yet the total bastard had departed, and another was needed in his place. Indeed, the horse decided to asketh Jaydas, and he sayeth, "yea, dude, that sounds fucking awesome. What's that? No, I'm done with crack. Fuck that shit." And they practiced and learned, and then Jaydas left. He taketh the preacher's amp, and the pope's amp, and selleth them for thirty pieces of crack rock. Cursed I name thee sayeth the preacher. Get me my goddamned amp. And after he recovereth his amp, he sayeth to the unnamed voice he heareth deliver unto us a savior. And from no place in particular steppeth a skinny music major who liked jazz. And the preacher sayeth Anson? You gotta be shitting me. But Anson taketh up his drumsticks and kicketh fucking ass. Three practices only had he to learn, yet flawlessly he played. Brother Anson I name you sayeth the preacher. And the girl band show was played. And the preacher drinketh of the turkey blood, and speaketh in tongues. And verily a hideous old hag having failed to cop a feel of the preacher, sayeth unto the pope, "kiss me!" "Okay," sayeth the pope in reply. And kiss the nasty old hag he did. And all there in attendance did get drunk though there be but one bottle of turkey. Thus it was that the preacher performed the miracle of the whiskey, when he did get 50 people drunk on one bottle of turkey. And the pope was pleased. And the saint was pleased. And the preacher was passed out on the floor facedown in a miniskirt and torn thighhighs. And he sayeth Anson perhaps was more than Brother. Yet upon reflection, the preacher saw the truth. This was no Brother. This was the MESSIAH, He who saved the horse in the darkest hour.