Meanwhile back at Camelot:

The big day is upon us, said Gaharis, clapping his hands in great satisfaction. We must balance our bets on this a little. But your stallion is beyond compare. Old Yeller shall have the day.

I dunno, Gaharis, although I feel better that the Jew's Arab is out of the race.  We always laugh at his little hunting dog, but that steed can run like the wind.

Did you hear that the Moor went off and got married?  Asked Gaharis.

No. At this late date. Well I guess we do not have to worry about Senor Eduardo then.  You know he is sneaky. A great horse. I grew to love the silly ass. No kidding.  But The Moor slipped out of town with this fair maiden of royal blood. Said Gawain.

What fair maiden? Queried Gaharis.        

Why the Belle of the Stables. Said Gawain.

The lady does magic with the equines?  She is of royal blood? Responded Gaharis.

Her father was the Duke of Earl.

That makes her even double the royal, do you not think?  Where would they get married on this auspicious weekend.

They went to a little village about 35 miles from here called Vegas. People get quick marriages there called elopements. Strange customs there. A lot of gambling and drinking and whoring. But they have attempted to make those of a higher class welcome.  And there is a priest there in a small chapel by the name of Father Presley and he performs the service.

You know Gawain, I am happy for them. I like the Moor.  The more I see the Moor the more I like the Moor. A man who would never stab a knight in the back.  We need more of them.

What are the odds on this great annual Nashorse race Gaharis?

We have three to one on Old Yeller and two to one on second.  Sir Lamarak has seven to one on his nag Go Please. Fifteen to one for Lancelot's Clementine. Tristan is riding Iseult but that is another issue. Hahahahhaaha

What do you think Gaharis, what is the best bet?

Well I got to think that it would be best to bet something on us as one and two. The strange thing about the race is we know that Go Please is one hell of a horse. But Lamarak is slow on the gate. And I think that figures in this race.


Throw a little something on Lamarak, just in case Gaharis.

Meanwhile the King is discussing the great race with his minions.

So our Hebrew friend is going to enter the race anyway?  I thought his Arab was injured and on the mend.

Funny thing Sire, Sir Moshe is going to run with Senor Eduardo while the Moor is away. If that is ok.

A Jew riding a Moor's steed?  Good story, good for Nashorse. I am all for it. Put him on the sign. So that there is time for odds making.

The arena was filled with the royalty, the knight's class and the peasants.

Signs were everywhere. Traders selling everything.

THE TSUNAMI, HOW BEST TO RIDE THE WAVE.

VIAGRA, A NEW BEGINNING IN THE END, so to speak, be sure to speak with your doctor and try to stay away from milk maids, if you feel swarthy for more than seven hours seek the advice of a shaman.

ASIAN SILK, GET RID OF THOSE UNSIGHTLY RASHES!!!!

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Banners were everywhere. All the tattoos were checked at the gate, no Picts allowed. Young girls were all rooting for Lancelot du Lac.  The beefy guys were all yelling for Gawain.  

Strange creatures were sitting with the peasants. The Guard watched carefully.

The band entered the field. They began to play and sing:

Introibo ad altari Dei
Well we'll have fun fun fun
Till daddy takes her stallion away
Well we took her daddy's steed and we
Ran to the nashorse stands now
We're getting  ready for the finals
And we're sitting by the one we all follow
Every guy is goin crazy for the free ale
and getting all we can swallow
If we lose all our bets we'll still have the buzz on
And we'll have fun, fun fun
Till her daddy takes her stallion away

Senor Eduardo had a serious discussion with Sir Moshe.  Now, Sir Moshe, it is ok to shake me out of the gate, but after that let me do the running.  Use your stick, but you are only pretending.  If you see something strange go ahead and tell me. But I have a plan and we shall see how it works.

Meanwhile, Sir Sundance was in charge of the manure detail. Sure we will make you a knight. Sure we are all proud of you and you have done us proud. But where is my first quest? Why it is the quest for the horse pucky. What the hell is that?  The rich boys do not get the manure detail. So here I am, in the fragrant part of the arena. Up to my knees in it again. There are all kinds of pollution they say!

All of a sudden our sullen friend noted something strange to the northeast. Two of Lamarak's squires were running from one of the stalls. Sir Sundance went as fast as he could in his boots would let him and found the corral.  It was empty.

The horses were all set at the gates. Fifteen steeds ready, willing and able to run the course. Chomping at the bit so to speak.

AND THEIR OFF, ITS HOWDY DOODY AT THE OUTSIDE, FOLLOWED BY OBLIS OBLIGE, FOLLOWED BY EDUARDO, FOLLOWED BY GO PLEASE AND CLEMENTINE...AT THE GATE IS CLEMENTINE, LANCELOT'S MARE IS DOWN....

The race proceeded without Clementine, she had lost a shoe.

Then, three giant warthogs, swarthing at the mouth (kind of a technical term for slathering) and they were going directly for Senor Eduardo, the Guard was stunned by the events....

All of a sudden all the action slooooowwwwwed to a stop. Two angels of the Lord appeared.

Gabriel said to Michael: Once in awhile we need to intervene in men's affairs.

You mean we are going to stop adultery?  Asked Michael.

No. You cannot stop human nature. Besides I like to watch. Hahahahaa.

Well when are we supposed to 'step in' as they say.

Well Michael, it is kind of like this.  Philosophers, at least the republicans among them, are the lowliest of the low of  humans in terms of brain power. They sit around and discuss topics like free will. Well free will. What a joke. Nothing is written in stone, except in Egypt. Hahahahahahaha. The future is for all to seek. You and I do not know the future. Future is just a tense. The word is meaningless. Predictions. That is the best you can do, at least from a quantum mechanics standpoint. Silly humans.  All you can do is improve your odds.  Life is a crap shoot and that has nothing to do with loos. The future is a word, just a word. Like nothing. Nothing without context means absolutely nothing. Hahahahahahahaha. (Gabriel liked to hahahahahahaha a lot when he was not killing babies and stuff) Or eternity. What the hell does eternity mean anyway?  Sometime in the future. Forever. Meaningless. Hyperbole. Philosophers, especially the republicans among them, are nothing but old drunks at the pub musing. Oh how I miss the real muses. The goddesses who titillate and urge the human soul on to new dimensions. Painting, music (hence the name), architecture (but make sure you get an engineer involved at the planning stage), writing and those who make numbers sing!!!!

Just then the Angel Obey appeared:

One of the ways the human deceives himself is through theory. In large part theories are good - they are part of how we come to understand the world. But it has its darker side. Here the 'abstraction' of what constitutes theoretical ideas is part of the problem - it gets detached from reality. Another part of the problem is the fact that very often we work within the framework of the theory - playing along to its rules - without realizing that is what we are doing. The notion of the 'free market' has been so successful over two hundred years in lifting standards of living in the western world, that we've exported it as a model into all spheres of life. Academia is a 'market' of ideas - ideas to be 'cashed out', and idea-makers to be bought and sold, marketed and advertised. In journalism, it's the commerce of 'news', 'stories', and 'narratives'. And somehow all the different fields of social activity, operating with this model, are supposed to achieve their social purpose - education, scientific understanding, an informed public discourse - not thanks to the individual's sense of responsibility for what he is doing, but thanks to the gentle nudge of some invisible hand. All the individual is required to do is look to his own self-interest sitting on the tip of his nose, and the rest will take care of itself.

WHAT!!!! Gabriel and Michael responded.

Gabriel continued: These cave paintings were given to  man through the old gods. The Bison as spirits rushing through the fields. The Mighty Stag, seeming to float above the ground, the personification of the seman and the maleness of a race.  The stick men demonstrating that man never felt himself 'above' the rest of nature, but in awe of that nature. The mystery of nature was still with them, and the gods ruled. Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose.        

You still have not told me Gabe why we are here?

There has been mischief.  Methinks this must be amended. And this is Easter, the celebration of Our Lord Jesus Christ and his Resurrection from the dead.  We cannot let this mischief go. Lancelot is a sinner, but they all are.  Out of stupidity really.  They try, at least some of these humans. How many women and children has this man saved?  How many times has he been wounded but still arises to fight another day for faith and King?  He will not win this race, but Lamorak has gone over the line here. And Senor Eduardo, my own creation really. I mean, I desired a horse that spoke. A horse that spoke and did not run around all day yelling" WILBURRRR. WILBURRRR.  I planted the seed in the mare in Araby and made him Spanish too boot. And look how well he has done with the humans. My favorite knight, the Moor was given him and of course had no idea what a prize he had received at auction.

Can we go back where you were giving seeds to mares?

Frick you Michael. Now let us do our work.

The warthogs were turned to dust. And Lancelot's steed was cured and the race began again!!!

AND COMING AROUND THE FINAL TURN IT IS... CLEMENTINE , OLD YELLER AND THEN GO PLEASE AND FROM THE OUTSIDE, SEEMINGLY OUT OF NOWHERE, IT IS EDUARDO AND IT IS EDUARDO CUTTING OFF GO PLEASE AND OLD YELLER AND CHASING CLEMENTINE

All of a sudden, Senor Eduardo called out: THE WARTHOG, WATCH OUT FOR THE WARTHOG!!!

Lancelot looked right and left and his horse was alarmed.

AND IT IS SENOR EDUARDO AT THE FINISH!!!!!

The horses trotted to a stop. Getting their breath. Hell they do not know who won or lost. Except Senor Eduardo of course!!!!. Their riders were out of breath also. And the crowd was in a roar.

EDUARDO, EDUARDO, EDUARDO.

 Sir Moshe just smiled. He knew Senor Eduardo was something special. Senor Eduardo knew nothing of bias, except against horses. Hahahahhaaha.



Gawain was depressed a little but not broken hearted. He loved the winning horse. He felt he had a chance. And Lancelot was confused.  At first his horse was injured and now his horse was just as healthy as well...a horse.

And as usual, the humans were without a clue. Without a clue as to how the world works or what had occurred just moments before the end of the race.

But Senor Eduardo was the winner and not the eaten.

And Lancelot had his favorite horse.

And Sir Palidan had his beloved in front of Elvis and all was all right.