My name is Jason and I’m a horse. Hanoverian to be specific.
I’m also fucking fuming.
There I was having a quiet munch in the paddock and who should saunter over, only Dick Features himself, accompanied by his ever expanding paunch.
“Wooooooo there, Jasey Jasey! Jasey, the bestest BOY! Time to get our picture painted now Jasey! Who’s a lucky pony? Who’s the luckiest, PRETTIEST, pony?!”
Let’s get one thing straight. I’m a HORSE, not an effing pony, you patronising prick.
17 hands is hardly pony territory and unlike you, my girth is comprised almost entirely of muscle. I mean, do you even lift, bruh?
Saddled me up for the spectacle too. Heartless really, considering the months that have passed since he last bothered taking me out for a hack. That would require the giving of a shit about me so needless to say I’ve been left to my own devices i.e. ABANDONED.
Just to clarify, horses have feelings too, you know.
We get lonely. We crave affection. Sometimes spooning a bemused sheep isn’t enough. Our needs couldn’t be more glaringly obvious.
Then again, I am of German descent and it naturally follows that I am highly accomplished at almost everything, intuition included. I sometimes forget that such compassion isn’t as readily accessible to upper class Englishmen. To this effect I shall spell it out again in the hopeless expectation that Dick Features might one day take the finger out.
Dear Sir,
My name is Jason. I enjoy trotting, cantering, galloping, jumping, bucking, neighing, listening to humans and silently advising, sugar cubes, carrot batons, apples, hay, compliments and patting. Would like to meet owner of similar interests.
Regards,
Jason
Potty Paintings 
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