Of Horses and of Termites

I delude myself of happy days, of harmony, and of personal gain development. Jockeying an albino stallion named Elmer is one thing, and riding a horse (that I shall refer to with female pronouns hereafter) is another thing. *Background music plays* When the light is off, then it isn't on. What very profound lyrics, noh?

As I was saying, riding her is another thing, especially when she could go berserk the moment I mount and feel her broad back between my fagotty thighs (yay to doubly double entendre and, at that, bestiality), thereby dislodging and leaving me lying on muddy ground. Worse, she could tear me into pieces then chew me up. (Dear reader, I understand you're wringing your brain right now to decipher what I'm saying here so I'll cut it out with the cryptic-ness. Besides, my metaphors are lame.)

Some people have taken seriously what recently came out of my foul mouth, and it still worries me that they have. Or have I just taken them seriously that they have taken me seriously? This early on I would like to set the record straight: No, I don't want to. No, no, no. Don't phunk with my heart (and mind).

I hallucinate, and to a certain degree, I think it is healthy. It paradoxically keeps me sane. But you know, my mental health is not that sound. Be very afraid of the catastrophe that may would happen if I were to agree to your proposition than if I were to decline. I have megalomaniac tendencies, you know. I'm just joking. You really wouldn't want an insect that feeds on wood, much more, make it your queen, would you?