The other day I heard someone say "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth." I was shocked. I thought I had gone back in time like 75 years or something like that, because who speaks in proverbs anymore. Most people just speak in amateur verbs. Then I realized I hadn't gone back in time, but was simply shocked because I was leaning against an electric fence. I got away from that voodoo magic electron wire then looked behind me. There stood a man and a boy. I assume the man said "don't look a gift" you know the rest of the quote to the boy, because that's a good assumption. Why would that boy say that to a man? Kids are dumb and don't say stuff like that. Although that is a dumb saying so a dumb kid could say it, but that's not the point. It's a fine assumption I made. I'm a fine man. An adult man. Anyway, next to the man and the boy stood a horse. A horse with a big red ribbon around its horse-middle, a ribbon like in one of those car commercials around Christmas time that they make to remind us poor people about how crappy our holidays are, which is to sell more beer and boxed wine and stuff. Scattered around the ribboned horse was a bunch of shredded wrapping paper. Bingo, I thought. Bingo would be a hilarious name for a horse, because it's usually a dog's name. The wrapping paper made me confident that this was a gift horse. The red ribbon was part one and the wrapping paper was part two in reaching this conclusion. Determining if something is a gift is a two part process, just like cutting a watermelon. First, you have to get the watermelon. Second, you have to get the knife. Third, you have to sharpen the knife. Fourth, you have to get some dumb kid to hold the watermelon. Fifth, you have to get some other dumb kid to cut the watermelon. Sixth, you have to make the dumb kids watch you eat the whole watermelon. A real adult eats entire watermelons. Only by doing so will dumb kids respect you. Failing to eat the entire watermelon will make dumb kids reject you. Not romantically you fricken' creep, I'm talking about are you cool or not. Are you? I am. I am cool. That's a two part process. Just like this horse, which was a gift horse, which gets me to my Maine point here: who gives someone a horse as a gift? I mean, I can speak for us all here on the world wide Chris Webber when I say we all love to look a horse in the mouth. That's where horse teeth are, and horse teeth are nothing to shake a stick at. Because if you do shake a stick at them, you'll offend the horse, and those very teeth will bite you, or even worse, that handsome stick you were shaking there. But gifting a horse? I just don't get it. Call me crazy, but that's not my name. A horse isn't a good gift. Horses don't lay eggs (usually), and as any real adult who's not a dumb kid knows, a real gift is a gift that keeps on giving. That's why I'm a chicken man. Not chicken as in scared sissy, guys, chicken as in balk-balk-balk-you're-a-major-league-baseball-pitcher-for-crying-out-loud-how-could-you-ever-false-motion-on-the-mound-at-this-point kind of guy. Sure, I can ride a horse, but that's about it. I'm not very good on a bicycle. Give me a chicken for a gift is all I'm saying!
Boy, it sure would be nice to have something else to say.