First, the winning horse, Big Brown, continued galloping after the race was over, declining an interview with NBC and instead aggressively sniffing the pace horse’s face and ass. It was clear Big Brown had no idea what he just accomplished or why some lady riding a horse and looking like Gazoo was chasing him with a black stick and Greg Gumbel’s puffy hair attached to it. We really can’t blame Big Brown for his behavior, partly because that lady seemed a bit too ‘in your face’, but mainly because he is, like Barbaro was last year, a fucking HORSE.

As for the horse that was shot to death, Eight Belles, he too had no idea what was going on, except for the fact that his toothpick ankles snapped like a twig under the pressure of 2,000 pounds of horse forced to run at light speed while a midget struck its sides with a leather whip.

At the end of the race, the pompous crowd held their collective breathes while Eight Belles (who went from Six Belles to For Whom the Belles Toll) was laying on the track and the proper horse doctors or anyone with a rifle handy, loaded up and put the horse out of its misery.

“Oh gosh, I feel so bad for Eight Belles,” said Penelope Wadsworth, “he really had a bad day and I can’t believe they had to kill him. I mean, what kind of world do we live in where a horse has to be killed on the spot?”

Well Penelope, this happens in horse racing all the time. If you were that concerned for the horse’s well being, you wouldn’t be drinking mint juleps, dressing like an Easter themed clown and trying to point out Nick Lachey in the crowd.

Finally, PETA pointed the finger at Eight Belles’ jockey for the beast’s death, instead of just sticking a finger up its own ass. Forget the horse’s breeders, trainers, fluffers, etc., let’s blame this jockey who likely gets treated like utter shit and whose own livelihood remains solely on winning horse races. Eh, fuck him – let’s concentrate on a dead horse.