Sunday, May 1, 2016

Ocean City Day 3: All The Pretty Horses (That Will Kill You and Eat Your French Fries)

Why did the pony cross the road?

So it can climb into your car and kick you and bite you to death!


No. Seriously. Here it comes.

HA! HA! HA... Oh NO! It's trying to get into the car! Let's get out of here!

I have long held the belief that horses, given the opportunity, will kill you and eat you.  My daughter has been riding horses for many years and each time I watch her climb aboard, I give her a gentle kiss on the head and tell her Goodbye, for I am fairly certain that I will never see her again.

Despite that fact, and despite the fact that we live within a half mile of at least 4 different neighbors who own horses, we found ourselves 500 miles from home, venturing out to a Assateague State Park, quite possibly the most dangerous state park in the entire world.

Welcome! Now prepare to die a horrible, horsey death.

The park offers a bewildering array of spectacular ways to die. If the wild horses don't get you, the dangerous waves will.

Come on in. The water's fine. And by "fine", we mean "lethal".

And if, somehow you manage to survive the horses AND the raging tsunamis, you'll just get electrocuted.

Ohhh! I love this place. It's so zappy.

Sounds like a perfect day to me, so we strolled past the more alarming warning signs and went for a stroll down the beach.

For myriad reasons, this is one of the most disturbing warning signs I've ever seen.

Oddly, there were not many people at THE BEACH OF CERTAIN DEATH.

We slunk around, ever watchful for rogue waves; biting, kicking horses; and random, deadly electrical outbursts.

We said our goodbyes and headed off down the beach.

We found pieces of a horseshoe crab. No doubt, it was done in by a horse.

I tried to reconstruct it, but eventually gave up, as it seemed to be missing many vital parts.

Tori found a human scapula bone. It appeared to have horse teeth marks on it. That's when we decided to leave the beach. Quickly.

We raced from the Deadly Beach of Death and wandered through the Abandoned Campground of Despair. It was pre-season and deserted, but still, the screams of previous campers being eaten by horses seemed to echo in the strong ocean wind. Which could probably also find a way to kill you.

The path through the campground passed some thrilling sights.

The birdhouse for VERY skinny birds.

A contemporary art installation piece. I spent several minutes admiring its jagged lines and the way the artist juxtaposed the wilds of nature with the sharp, rusted edges of human development. I thought the piece spoke eloquently about the eternal struggle between man and nature. But then Kerri pointed out that it was just a pile of rusty fire pits that were being thrown away.

The world's largest pile of horse poop.
Complete with a festive "Poop on the Half Shell"for discriminating scavengers.

We were attacked at one point by desiccated nuggets of horse poop that got caught in the high winds and transformed into High Velocity Tumble-Turds™.

I knew the wind would try to find a way to kill us!

And then we saw them...

The Three Horses of the Apocalypse!

Apparently, they recycle horses here. I admire the park's dedication to sustainability.

And the giant dumpsters give campers a place to hide from rampaging ponies.

We didn't get a chance to see them frolicking or maiming anyone as it seems we arrived at break time.

We heard this horse whispering to her foal that they were going to kill us and steal our french fries. The joke is on them - WE DON'T HAVE ANY FRENCH FRIES, SUCKAHS!

After they discovered that we didn't have any french fries with us, the horses wandered away to find other tourists to kick, bite, and kill.

After the horses wandered off, we realized that we had survived the dangers of Assateague State Park. We felt like Wesley and Princess Buttercup in The Princess Bride having survived the dangers of the Fire Swamp.

Only they didn't have to deal with the Tumble-Turds.

We staggered back to our car and headed back to the boardwalk and the beach at Ocean City, which was relatively horse-free.

Or so we thought...

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