No! No! No! No! Never! Never! No!

I know what we're running away from...

Disturbing news today from my arch-nemesis, PETA....

"PETA is asking the owners of Kentucky Derby winner Big Brown to take a $50 million cut in pay.

The People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals has sent a letter to owners Michael Iavarone and Richard Schiavo begging them to castrate the colt"

Why? What did we ever do to PETA beside enjoy a nice steak?

What's worse is that I can think of about 5 ex-girlfriends of mine who would be willing to sign this petition...jeez, it's not like I didn't punch them in the stomach when I was done to make sure nothing bad happened.

Don't worry, we'll be okay.

As sexy reader, Carl B, pointed out to me this morning, we've suffered a broken foot and our racing career is over.

Godspeed, you fucking horse. Godspeed.

Guess who's winning the Preakness on Saturday?

We are, bitches!

That's right, our horsey mascot is the overwhelming favorite at the Preakness on Saturday...the second leg of the Triple Crown.

Here's the odds for you notorious gamblers:

Big Brown: 1-2
Gayego: 8-1
Behindathebar: 10-1
Yankee Bravo: 15-1
Kentucky Bear (Bear's Mascot): 15-1
Macho Again: 20-1
Hey Byrn: 20-1
Tres Borrachos (El Blogador's mascot): 30-1
Icabad Crane: 30-1
Racecar Rhapsody: 30-1
Stevil: 30-1
Riley Tucker: 30-1
Giant Moon: 30-1

So, here's to you, Big Brown. I hope you and your jockey, who's name I assume is Little Brown, achieve greatness on account of us. Make another Eight Belles out of the rest of those whore-ses. (See what I did there? Genius!)

Your friends in cyberspace (and eternal Barbaro-dom),
The Big and the Brown

Please, not another Barbaro

This Eight Belles thing is getting a bit out of hand.

We get it, PETA hates humans.

Fine.

However, just because a horse that is trained to do nothing but run broke its ankles I don't think that the sports world needs to focus on doing a steroid test on a horse autopsy. It's really not that important.

I understand that for the next few weeks, everyone pretends they give a rat's ass about horse racing because of the Triple Crown. You can be damn sure that this blog will be interested because our boy is the leader in the club house.

That being said, our buddy said it pretty perfectly last night:

"Who fucking cares? It's a running bottle of glue."

Personally, I'd like to think our boy, Big Brown, was in some way a descendant of the horse that Gus used to protect himself from the Native Americans that were chasing him.