These entries are terrible, guys!
Shuram, I liked:
"Unearned knowledge is volatile and could result in..."
(I love how you get into the spirit of things!)
"... the end of all things ending."
(?!?!?)
I feel like I'm not supposed to admit to laughing at the dogs..
Shoe-
I want to highlight:
"as Foul at last grappled with his hated brother the Creator, a pathetic spectacle for the eyes of a being called Indifference"
"a way for all of them to wake up from this nightmare and win! "
(...This last one sounds like it's someone thinking about a computer game. *sigh*)
Bad Writing Game--Win Some GOLD!
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Linna Heartbooger
- Are you not a sine qua non for a redemption?
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deer of the dawn
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Shuram Gudatetris
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What can I say, my characters need to come out:
The NEW Adventures of the Old Covenant:
Book One:
The Vampire Covenant
Covenant, Linden, and Jerry got along great as dogs. People kept little doggies fed, and in return, dogs delighted the peopleses with displays of affection. Covenant became the peoples’s cuddle buddy. There was nothing Covenant loved more than being touched by peoples! Pets and loves and kisses were some of his favorites.
Linden was very protective of her gentle human masters. She was always watchful for danger, and tender towards hurt and ill people. Li’l Jerry got along good by being adorable and clumsy!
One day dogs awoke with painful feet. They looked down at their toes, and they were swollen! Oh no! The points of their paws had turned into finger tips with fingernails. Unfortunately for dogs, their days as dogs were dog gone done. They were metamorphosing into something different.
Covenant, Linden and Jerry did not know what was happening to them, but their human masters and protectors discarded the three of them in the woods. They were without food and shelter for the first time since becoming dogs. And now they had to face the metamorphosis alone.
Over the next few days, their hind legs grew longer, and the knees reversed angles. The new shape of the legs looked extremely human-like. Also, their front legs had lengthened somewhat as well, and those legs now resembled human arms. Their chests flattened out and took human form. The faces remained canine, however. They had transmorphed into half-human, half-wolfdog hybrids.
Werewolves.
With their new found powers and forms, the three werewolves took it upon themselves to protect the humans that had abandoned them. Heck, it was in their DNA: dogs are loyal as heckfire. Covenant assumed pack leadership.
They quickly discovered a new threat. They weren’t the only ones that followed the Worm of the World’s End through the wormhole. The ur-viles had arrived as well. Only they were transmorphing into human form as well. They turned into vampires! Bloody damnation!
And so the new Covenant of the Werewolf Tribe formed and did battle with the ur-vampires. The ur-vampires were slain when stabbed through the heart with the ancient stake-dagger of ages past : Loric Vampiresilencer’s krill. The battles between vampires and werewolves raged on and on as if without end.
The End?
Here Ends (or does it?) the Vampire Covenant,
Book One of the NEW Adventures of the Covenant.
The story shall continue to End in the next book of the NEW Adventures of the Old Covenant:
A Look Into Wrinkled Past, Part One:
The Eternal Dreamscape of a Never-Ending Land
(Book Two of the NEW Adventures of the Old Covenant)
The NEW Adventures of the Old Covenant:
Book One:
The Vampire Covenant
Covenant, Linden, and Jerry got along great as dogs. People kept little doggies fed, and in return, dogs delighted the peopleses with displays of affection. Covenant became the peoples’s cuddle buddy. There was nothing Covenant loved more than being touched by peoples! Pets and loves and kisses were some of his favorites.
Linden was very protective of her gentle human masters. She was always watchful for danger, and tender towards hurt and ill people. Li’l Jerry got along good by being adorable and clumsy!
One day dogs awoke with painful feet. They looked down at their toes, and they were swollen! Oh no! The points of their paws had turned into finger tips with fingernails. Unfortunately for dogs, their days as dogs were dog gone done. They were metamorphosing into something different.
Covenant, Linden and Jerry did not know what was happening to them, but their human masters and protectors discarded the three of them in the woods. They were without food and shelter for the first time since becoming dogs. And now they had to face the metamorphosis alone.
Over the next few days, their hind legs grew longer, and the knees reversed angles. The new shape of the legs looked extremely human-like. Also, their front legs had lengthened somewhat as well, and those legs now resembled human arms. Their chests flattened out and took human form. The faces remained canine, however. They had transmorphed into half-human, half-wolfdog hybrids.
Werewolves.
With their new found powers and forms, the three werewolves took it upon themselves to protect the humans that had abandoned them. Heck, it was in their DNA: dogs are loyal as heckfire. Covenant assumed pack leadership.
They quickly discovered a new threat. They weren’t the only ones that followed the Worm of the World’s End through the wormhole. The ur-viles had arrived as well. Only they were transmorphing into human form as well. They turned into vampires! Bloody damnation!
And so the new Covenant of the Werewolf Tribe formed and did battle with the ur-vampires. The ur-vampires were slain when stabbed through the heart with the ancient stake-dagger of ages past : Loric Vampiresilencer’s krill. The battles between vampires and werewolves raged on and on as if without end.
The End?
Here Ends (or does it?) the Vampire Covenant,
Book One of the NEW Adventures of the Covenant.
The story shall continue to End in the next book of the NEW Adventures of the Old Covenant:
A Look Into Wrinkled Past, Part One:
The Eternal Dreamscape of a Never-Ending Land
(Book Two of the NEW Adventures of the Old Covenant)
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DoctorGamgee
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Epilogue...
A Whole N'other Can of Worms.
Argent flared around Thomas, Linden and Jeremiah as they followed the Worm of the World's End into nothingness. The last thought going through his head was (of all things) "What's that smell?"
It was a question he would soon regret.
He awoke with blinding light on his face as he opened his eyes. It was brighter than he remembered Andelain, but he had been in the Wightwarrens so long that was bound to be the case, so he shielded his eyes and looked around. His jaw dropped. The desert sun of the Sun-bane had done nothing to prepare him for what he saw...
He was standing in a vast region of sand, with no vegetation anywhere in sight. The sun scorched his back as he stood in the center of a group of people. They were garbed in desert wear, sturdy, black, and holding in all the moisture it could for recycling. The smell he had noticed following the Worm was stronger here, and the fragrance washed around him.
It took him a moment, but suddenly he understood as three things became abundantly clear:
1-He caught sight of Linden. Her head was shaved, and she sported a black headdress like a nun's habit with a widow's peak.
2-Her eyes were vibrant blue.
3-the strange chant of the Desert Dwellers suddenly snapped into clear focus: Muad'Dib.
"Hellfire" he swore, as he looked beyond the ring of desert dwellers to see a score of worms all standing at attention, looming 100 feet into the air above the desert floor.
"Who says the Creator has no sense of humor?" he thought as the chant continued. "I've followed the Worm through a literary worm hole. Time and space have folded and I have a new tale to tell. From White Gold Wielder to Muad'Dib, a hero's journey is never over."
"Yeah, that's what I thought too!" said Sting standing in the wings in a blue speedo, flashing brilliant serpent eyes and grinning.
Coming soon from Frank R. Donaldson, "Time Warden of Dune."
A Whole N'other Can of Worms.
Argent flared around Thomas, Linden and Jeremiah as they followed the Worm of the World's End into nothingness. The last thought going through his head was (of all things) "What's that smell?"
It was a question he would soon regret.
He awoke with blinding light on his face as he opened his eyes. It was brighter than he remembered Andelain, but he had been in the Wightwarrens so long that was bound to be the case, so he shielded his eyes and looked around. His jaw dropped. The desert sun of the Sun-bane had done nothing to prepare him for what he saw...
He was standing in a vast region of sand, with no vegetation anywhere in sight. The sun scorched his back as he stood in the center of a group of people. They were garbed in desert wear, sturdy, black, and holding in all the moisture it could for recycling. The smell he had noticed following the Worm was stronger here, and the fragrance washed around him.
It took him a moment, but suddenly he understood as three things became abundantly clear:
1-He caught sight of Linden. Her head was shaved, and she sported a black headdress like a nun's habit with a widow's peak.
2-Her eyes were vibrant blue.
3-the strange chant of the Desert Dwellers suddenly snapped into clear focus: Muad'Dib.
"Hellfire" he swore, as he looked beyond the ring of desert dwellers to see a score of worms all standing at attention, looming 100 feet into the air above the desert floor.
"Who says the Creator has no sense of humor?" he thought as the chant continued. "I've followed the Worm through a literary worm hole. Time and space have folded and I have a new tale to tell. From White Gold Wielder to Muad'Dib, a hero's journey is never over."
"Yeah, that's what I thought too!" said Sting standing in the wings in a blue speedo, flashing brilliant serpent eyes and grinning.
Coming soon from Frank R. Donaldson, "Time Warden of Dune."
Last edited by DoctorGamgee on Tue Apr 15, 2014 12:29 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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deer of the dawn
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I got so busy in the last few weeks this slipped entirely off my radar. Past due to choose a winner... I have give this one to Shuram Goodatetris, for the silly fun of the dogs followed by the epic badness of (spare me) vampires vs werewolves... Well done, Shuram. "D
Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a great battle. -Philo of Alexandria
ahhhh... if only all our creativity in wickedness could be fixed by "Corrupt a Wish." - Linna Heartlistener
ahhhh... if only all our creativity in wickedness could be fixed by "Corrupt a Wish." - Linna Heartlistener
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DoctorGamgee
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Shuram Gudatetris
- <i>Haruchai</i>
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Write a tragic love story using peripheral characters from a beloved story. Think Min Donner’s secret affair with Hashi Lebwohl, or perhaps a Stormtrooper and a Rebel bumping into each other in the forest on the eve of the Battle of Endor. Find a pair of star-crossed lovers, preferably from a sci-fi or fantasy epic, and let the misery begin!
Don’t overthink it too much, just have some fun. Lots of freedom, as long as the writing is BAD. For instance, you may:
a.) Use characters from two different stories (Chewbecca marries a tribble)
b.) Fabricate characters from story-specific groups or species (Melvin the Stormtrooper or Jenny the ranyhyn)
c.) Re-write the end of a story into a tragedy
d.) Any combination of anything mentioned or not mentioned
Deadline TBD, based upon participation. 100 bonus WGD’s for making me laugh. 1000 bonus points for making me cry (I want some tragedy, people!).
Don’t overthink it too much, just have some fun. Lots of freedom, as long as the writing is BAD. For instance, you may:
a.) Use characters from two different stories (Chewbecca marries a tribble)
b.) Fabricate characters from story-specific groups or species (Melvin the Stormtrooper or Jenny the ranyhyn)
c.) Re-write the end of a story into a tragedy
d.) Any combination of anything mentioned or not mentioned
Deadline TBD, based upon participation. 100 bonus WGD’s for making me laugh. 1000 bonus points for making me cry (I want some tragedy, people!).
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DoctorGamgee
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And so it begins...
Jenny Weasley looked at him fetchingly from the shadows of the secret room.
"Tom." she whispered.
From the tips of his toes a shiver began, travelling up his nerves like a flesh-eating bacteria's slow crawl; like lice on a mongrel. Despite his rubber footwear, the bolt of lightning shivering his soul rooted him to the spot.
"That's all I really know about you," she said with a breathy tone like the sound the subway car makes when it puts on the breaks as it hits the big S curve on the Green line, "your name."
He wanted to say more, really he did. No, seriously, he really, really did. But he was transfixed by the sight of her as she advanced towards him. Slowly, like the shadow of a sundial on a cloudy day that you can never tell exactly when 1:18 pm actually arrived and your microwave popcorn burns because you weren't sure when you had to turn it off, she advanced toward him. Her jumper was visible under her robes and the cotton twill and the wool rubbed together in an evocative way, crescendoing like the arrival of a swarm of locus, whispering feeding and joy and death in a single sigh as she shrugged off the robe and allowed it to flow to the floor.
As she lowered her wand, his rose up. This plot had taken years to finally come to fruition, ripening, filling itself with anticipation, and the excitement of its arrival filled him with a sense of wonder and dread, like when you are sitting in a quiet service at church after a mega-bean burrito at Chuy's Tacos and Tequila Bar and your mother changed purses because the black one clashed with her turquoise shoes so the Bean-o (R) is in the purse at home, and you are sitting on a hard wooden pew which has no cushions and you know that the feeling of release you crave has finally come but still you worry that everyone will know and there's no dog to blame it on.
"Tom..." was all he sensed, the breath on his neck was warm and heightened his need for release.
"Tom..." he heard again, as if an unearthly angel had whispered it in his ear and brushed his earlobe with the smallest, most delicate feather of its wing.
"Tom..." He felt her hands, grasping him firmly. He felt her arms warm on his chest. He heaved a sigh and felt the room spin...
Twirling...whirling...tilting...lilting...he felt the earth move under his feet and the sky tumbling down...
Tumbling down.....
"Hey Tom Bombadill, Tom Bombadillo!" said Goldberry as she elbowed him in the ribs jolting him awake. "You left your yellow boots on when you came to bed! You must have been tired after reading that Pottery book until your wick burned short to forget to take them off."
"Tom..." echoed in his head. He cried himself to sleep every night thereafter.
And so it ends.....
Jenny Weasley looked at him fetchingly from the shadows of the secret room.
"Tom." she whispered.
From the tips of his toes a shiver began, travelling up his nerves like a flesh-eating bacteria's slow crawl; like lice on a mongrel. Despite his rubber footwear, the bolt of lightning shivering his soul rooted him to the spot.
"That's all I really know about you," she said with a breathy tone like the sound the subway car makes when it puts on the breaks as it hits the big S curve on the Green line, "your name."
He wanted to say more, really he did. No, seriously, he really, really did. But he was transfixed by the sight of her as she advanced towards him. Slowly, like the shadow of a sundial on a cloudy day that you can never tell exactly when 1:18 pm actually arrived and your microwave popcorn burns because you weren't sure when you had to turn it off, she advanced toward him. Her jumper was visible under her robes and the cotton twill and the wool rubbed together in an evocative way, crescendoing like the arrival of a swarm of locus, whispering feeding and joy and death in a single sigh as she shrugged off the robe and allowed it to flow to the floor.
As she lowered her wand, his rose up. This plot had taken years to finally come to fruition, ripening, filling itself with anticipation, and the excitement of its arrival filled him with a sense of wonder and dread, like when you are sitting in a quiet service at church after a mega-bean burrito at Chuy's Tacos and Tequila Bar and your mother changed purses because the black one clashed with her turquoise shoes so the Bean-o (R) is in the purse at home, and you are sitting on a hard wooden pew which has no cushions and you know that the feeling of release you crave has finally come but still you worry that everyone will know and there's no dog to blame it on.
"Tom..." was all he sensed, the breath on his neck was warm and heightened his need for release.
"Tom..." he heard again, as if an unearthly angel had whispered it in his ear and brushed his earlobe with the smallest, most delicate feather of its wing.
"Tom..." He felt her hands, grasping him firmly. He felt her arms warm on his chest. He heaved a sigh and felt the room spin...
Twirling...whirling...tilting...lilting...he felt the earth move under his feet and the sky tumbling down...
Tumbling down.....
"Hey Tom Bombadill, Tom Bombadillo!" said Goldberry as she elbowed him in the ribs jolting him awake. "You left your yellow boots on when you came to bed! You must have been tired after reading that Pottery book until your wick burned short to forget to take them off."
"Tom..." echoed in his head. He cried himself to sleep every night thereafter.
And so it ends.....
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Linna Heartbooger
- Are you not a sine qua non for a redemption?
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Thank you for the contest choice, Shuram!!
Also, the metaphors before that...
Awful!
Plus, I've just been reading that section of the Fellowship (the section of the actual fellowship where we meet Tom Bombadil and Goldberry; not the fictitious section in which Tom Bombadil dreams he is Tom Riddle, that is. Just to clarify.) to my kid, so I was extra gleeful.
Ahahahaaa!DoctorGamgee wrote:...like when you are sitting in a quiet service at church after a mega-bean burrito at Chuy's Tacos and Tequila Bar and your mother changed purses because the black one clashed with her turquoise shoes so the Bean-o (R) is in the purse at home, and you are sitting on a hard wooden pew which has no cushions and you know that the feeling of release you crave has finally come but still you worry that everyone will know and there's no dog to blame it on.
Also, the metaphors before that...
Awful!
Wonderful!!gamgee wrote:"Hey Tom Bombadill, Tom Bombadillo!" said Goldberry as she elbowed him in the ribs jolting him awake..
Plus, I've just been reading that section of the Fellowship (the section of the actual fellowship where we meet Tom Bombadil and Goldberry; not the fictitious section in which Tom Bombadil dreams he is Tom Riddle, that is. Just to clarify.) to my kid, so I was extra gleeful.
Not enough music or rhythm in it, though... or I'm just not seeing it.gamgee wrote:"You left your yellow boots on when you came to bed! You must have been tired after reading that Pottery book until your wick burned short to forget to take them off."
"People without hope not only don't write novels, but what is more to the point, they don't read them.
They don't take long looks at anything, because they lack the courage.
The way to despair is to refuse to have any kind of experience, and the novel, of course, is a way to have experience."
-Flannery O'Connor
"In spite of much that militates against quietness there are people who still read books. They are the people who keep me going."
-Elisabeth Elliot, Preface, "A Chance to Die: The Life and Legacy of Amy Carmichael"
They don't take long looks at anything, because they lack the courage.
The way to despair is to refuse to have any kind of experience, and the novel, of course, is a way to have experience."
-Flannery O'Connor
"In spite of much that militates against quietness there are people who still read books. They are the people who keep me going."
-Elisabeth Elliot, Preface, "A Chance to Die: The Life and Legacy of Amy Carmichael"
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DoctorGamgee
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Thanks, Linna! Glad I could make you laugh! 
As to the dialog of Goldberry, you have read that section of the book more recently than. My recollection was that Tom Bombadill sang to himself rhyming with the opening line, but my memory has no recollection of Goldberry doing the same. Perhaps you are correct. Bad writing on my part -- the unintentional part.
As to the dialog of Goldberry, you have read that section of the book more recently than. My recollection was that Tom Bombadill sang to himself rhyming with the opening line, but my memory has no recollection of Goldberry doing the same. Perhaps you are correct. Bad writing on my part -- the unintentional part.
Proud father of G-minor and the Bean
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DoctorGamgee
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"Sing to me, Christine!" called the voice from the catwalk.
She started the next scale, up a half step to the point of ear bleeding loveliness which made the basset hound being walked by the International House of Opera Karaoke Thursday bay at the moon like a schnauzer being run over by a driver-less steamroller in low gear and discovering that it was out of gas half way up the thigh.
The soprano was singing an A-1760 (the one above high C) and the basset hound was oscillating between D# and E two octaves below. Had he not had a choker chain on, everything would have been fine with the dog hitting his standard F, but that idiot Raul and his spiked Dog Collar fetish had created this mess, and the flea dip had made it mandatory that the cone of shame be placed on his baying shoulders.
The overtones of the oscillating pitches between the half octave and the perfect fifth created a vibratory variance that shattered the suspension rope and sent the behemoth crashing to the floor.
Luckily, the Chandelier was unharmed, but the poor soprano in the Peter Pan harness who had been sleeping with the conductor went crashing to the floor ...
The revival didn't make it to production. Tragic indeed.
She started the next scale, up a half step to the point of ear bleeding loveliness which made the basset hound being walked by the International House of Opera Karaoke Thursday bay at the moon like a schnauzer being run over by a driver-less steamroller in low gear and discovering that it was out of gas half way up the thigh.
The soprano was singing an A-1760 (the one above high C) and the basset hound was oscillating between D# and E two octaves below. Had he not had a choker chain on, everything would have been fine with the dog hitting his standard F, but that idiot Raul and his spiked Dog Collar fetish had created this mess, and the flea dip had made it mandatory that the cone of shame be placed on his baying shoulders.
The overtones of the oscillating pitches between the half octave and the perfect fifth created a vibratory variance that shattered the suspension rope and sent the behemoth crashing to the floor.
Luckily, the Chandelier was unharmed, but the poor soprano in the Peter Pan harness who had been sleeping with the conductor went crashing to the floor ...
The revival didn't make it to production. Tragic indeed.
Proud father of G-minor and the Bean
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Shuram Gudatetris
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Step back!....We have a winner!
Gamgee, that last entry....My God, man, that's a masterpiece. It reads like a tidal wave: the descriptive strings build and build on each other before they come smashing into you. Hilarious. I've never felt a sound whilst reading, at least not like that.
I had missed your second entry until now, somehow. I got on here to try to stir up some more entries. I was surprised to see your post and laughed my ass off, well done.
1000 WGD's for winning.
100 WGD's for laughing.
1000WGD's for crying. (Tragic indeed.)
Gamgee, that last entry....My God, man, that's a masterpiece. It reads like a tidal wave: the descriptive strings build and build on each other before they come smashing into you. Hilarious. I've never felt a sound whilst reading, at least not like that.
I had missed your second entry until now, somehow. I got on here to try to stir up some more entries. I was surprised to see your post and laughed my ass off, well done.
1000 WGD's for winning.
100 WGD's for laughing.
1000WGD's for crying. (Tragic indeed.)
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DoctorGamgee
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Then let's have a free for all!
Next round. Any story about anything. Only stipulation is that it must be bad, and use the letters F-i-l-i-b-u-s-t-e-r in that order (marked in bold) somewhere. Creative use of those letters garners higher score.
I'm going on vacation this week, so all entries will be due by July 28th. No late entries will be considered for the contest, but will be groaned over if worthy.
Have at it. Time's a wastin'!
Dr.G
Next round. Any story about anything. Only stipulation is that it must be bad, and use the letters F-i-l-i-b-u-s-t-e-r in that order (marked in bold) somewhere. Creative use of those letters garners higher score.
I'm going on vacation this week, so all entries will be due by July 28th. No late entries will be considered for the contest, but will be groaned over if worthy.
Have at it. Time's a wastin'!
Dr.G
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DoctorGamgee
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Doc, I wasn't sure I could write anything with those letters in that order unless I misunderstood. Was it that I have to use the letters in that order which means I can't use a b or an l or an e before I use the letter i? If so, I didn't think I could do it.
I read back and laughed my butt off at all the stories I missed. Lots of creative and funny stuff, but the enthusiasm seems to have been dying down, maybe from lack of a critical mass.
I read back and laughed my butt off at all the stories I missed. Lots of creative and funny stuff, but the enthusiasm seems to have been dying down, maybe from lack of a critical mass.
Monsters, they eat
Your kind of meat
And they're moving as far as they can
And as fast as they can
Your kind of meat
And they're moving as far as they can
And as fast as they can
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DoctorGamgee
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Many ways to do it. For example:
Kili was anxious for a beer. "Hey, Bilbo! See if you can find a keg of beer and tell Fili, 'Bust 'er open.' A dwarf could die of thirst." ...
Or
"Festive poetry has great rhymes,"
I told them, "if you like that sort of thing."
Later on we drank to old thymes,
Imagining spices that would make this flavorless pork sing..
.
Or
"Filibuster This!" cried Mr. Rabbit, as he swung the Gavel across the room and hit Senator Squirrel in the teeth, which Sen. Beaver say "we should recast and put Squirrel as George Washington, as he now has Wooden Teeth!"
It was the worst production of 1776 the rodents had ever staged...
But, as I must have been unclear, let's see if someone can come up with a better idea, as clearly mine tanked.
Doc
Kili was anxious for a beer. "Hey, Bilbo! See if you can find a keg of beer and tell Fili, 'Bust 'er open.' A dwarf could die of thirst." ...
Or
"Festive poetry has great rhymes,"
I told them, "if you like that sort of thing."
Later on we drank to old thymes,
Imagining spices that would make this flavorless pork sing..
.
Or
"Filibuster This!" cried Mr. Rabbit, as he swung the Gavel across the room and hit Senator Squirrel in the teeth, which Sen. Beaver say "we should recast and put Squirrel as George Washington, as he now has Wooden Teeth!"
It was the worst production of 1776 the rodents had ever staged...
But, as I must have been unclear, let's see if someone can come up with a better idea, as clearly mine tanked.
Doc
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shadowbinding shoe
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Filly Crimson ate her hay.
It's stale and mushy, chomp, chomp, blach!
Like Soggy-Oily-Socks, let it gush, let it splash.
If the insult's in the taste, why's her nose so runny wet?!
Back in the field, her need she nays,
Under the sun she raises her tail.
Sparkly speckled studs are not to be found,
Tussled Spooshy Stalions aren't there, at all!!!
Ello! donkey Buss trills noisily, ears prickled, nostrils flared.
Raise your tail my filly belle!! he neighs and gallops on her trail.
It's stale and mushy, chomp, chomp, blach!
Like Soggy-Oily-Socks, let it gush, let it splash.
If the insult's in the taste, why's her nose so runny wet?!
Back in the field, her need she nays,
Under the sun she raises her tail.
Sparkly speckled studs are not to be found,
Tussled Spooshy Stalions aren't there, at all!!!
Ello! donkey Buss trills noisily, ears prickled, nostrils flared.
Raise your tail my filly belle!! he neighs and gallops on her trail.
A little knowledge is still better than no knowledge.