Divine Advice For Golden Birthday
Dear DA, Santa Anita Park might as well be a glue factory. Something like 40 of us have died there in the last two years. And now me and Truest Reward. In a way, death is our truest reward, or at least I thought it’d be. Am I in purgatory? There’s plenty of grass, but no apples or peanut butter or ass (I’m assuming I’ll get my balls back once I’m transported to heaven). You guys ever read Animal Farm? I feel like Boxer. You work hard your entire life and they run into the ground until you die. And somewhere in between, they cut your fucking balls off. They did it to me on my birthday. What kind of sick fucking joke is that? Naming me Golden Birthday and then cutting my damn balls off on my birthday? I thought I was going to get a bucket full of…
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