--^=            <                    >  /`'`\
                \=           <  THE GLUE FACTORY  >  |.  \....
                 ---------\  <                    >   \   '`'`'`\
                 /       \ \ < stolen from stogee >    \       | \
                 \       /   <                    >    `.......'  `
                             <   the horse zine   >    /\    /\
                             <                    >   /  \  /  \

Bienvenue!  Wilkommen!  Welcome to the second issue of The Glue Factory,
the premiere zine of horses!  After our groundbreaking first issue, we
have proven all the naysayers wrong.  This installation of our literary
magazine brings you, our esteemed reader, more equine wonderment.  So,
without further adieu, let the horses run free!

lb

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Contents:

I.    "Fun with Glue" by LordPhatal
II.   "The Rocking Horse Winner" by Oregano
III.  "Outdoor Ed" by nyar
IV.   "Horses, Horses" by skora
V.    "Lessons from a hard life." by soko
VI.   "A Menu for Horses" by maven

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I.

Fun with Glue

  by LordPhatal

Like when I was little and schtuff I asked my dad where glue comes from in
front of K-Mart.  He told me it came from horses.  I first thought it may
be like milk from cows, but he said "No...like it's made out of horses."  
I thought that was pretty cool.

At school on Monday I waited until crafts time, so I could be
mischievious with this newfound knowledge.  When the time came I started
shredding the construction paper (brown).  Then I took all the little
pieces and started mashing glue into it and made a poor sculpting
substance.  I tried to make a horse out of the schtuff, but it didn't work
well.  

The teacher asked me what I was doing, (we were supposed to be making
forest animals in 2D, because we learned about all the animals in the
forest and how they live together in balance and schtuff.).  I told her
what I was doing and she let me know that horses don't live in the
forest... and I said What about wild horses?  She shut her hole, and I
said glue is from horses, so I'm making it back into a horse.

This girl said that it was a dum idea.  I was mad at the teacher and the
girl (I can't remember her name, but I remember her face).  So I grabbed
the glue and started slinging it on the girl and started yelling "It's
horse blood, It's horse blood!"  The girl started crying and I started
laughing, and they made my mom come and pick me up.  All in all it was a
good day...thanx to some horse.

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II.

  The Rocking Horse Winner

  by Oregano

    The Rocking Horse Winner is not a scary story.

    So what? Why are you telling me this?

    The Rocking Horse Winner is often passed off as a scary story.  You
will find it in collections of scary stories aimed at the more literary
crowd.  Collections of "scary" stories by famous and respected authors.
    D.H. lawrence wrote the story and it is not scary or even quite
supernatural, but you can see how it almost fits the bill; since people
like to pretend they are smart (I am no exception) they buy these
anthologies of literary scary tales, often times to read to children at
bedtime.  These people think they are too intellectual to read Stephen
King but stories by D.H. Lawrence must be okay for their pretentious
little children who don't give a turd and want R.L. Stein -- another
author who is pretty decent but gets crapped on by the litterati.  I in
turn crap on the literratti, but somehow that does not make headlines in
the New York Review Of Books.
    The story The Rocking Horse winner is not horrible: a youth gets a
rocking horse for Christmas and his alcoholic gambling father asks the
youth for a tip on a horse race.  While the youth rocks for pleasure he
suddenly gets insight into the race's winner.  It progresses rather
predictably from there with the alcoholic father urging the kid on with
larger and larger wagers and the enabling co-dependant mother getting into
the act and pushing the kid on.  It takes more and more rocking to get
each further result and the youth in the end dies a horrible, but
predictable death.
    See?  Not really scary, except the stuff about the alcoholic parents
and the mother pushing her son too far till he cracks and drops out of
college, right mom?  Nothing is good enough for you, is it?  I will always
be a failure, right?
    Anyway, skip The Rocking Horse winner by D. H. Lawrence this Halloween
and read "The Woman Who Grew Too Big A Pumpkin" by Megyn Olson, instead.

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III.

  Outdoor Ed

  by nyar

When I was in sixth grade my class did something that a lot of classes do
around that time; we went on outdoor ed. A chance to get away from the
humdrum from class for a few days, and stay away from home, under the
pretenses of learning, how neat!

The place that we went to was called White Pines Ranch. The place is still
around and they have a crappy website at http://www.whitepinesranch.com.
I believe the trip was 2 nights and 3 days. The first day we got there in
mid-afternoon. After stowing our gear in the bunkrooms we got a tour of
the main part of the ranch. They actually had something like 100 steers
there. The thing I remember most about the steers was how much steam came
out of their turds. Yes, not the kind of thing they mean for you to learn
on outdoor ed, but it was pretty cool nonetheless.

We also got to see their horses. They had several dozen horses, in all
sizes and colors. Well ok, they were all about the same size and they
were all mostly brown and black, some bits of white here and there. The
horses seemed to crap a lot less than the steers.

After dinner that night we watched some movies, including _The Lorax_ by
Doctor Seuss. I don't know why I remember that.

The next day we did several different activities, split off into smaller
groups. The first activity that my group did was attempt to find fossils
in a nearby quarry. I wasn't successful, but a friend of mine did find a
trilobite fossil, which is pretty cool, I think. The next activity was
orienteering, which I recall had something to do with a compass, and
pacing. The final activity that my group did was the highlight of
everyone's trip - we got to go horseback riding.

I still recall the horse that I rode. His name was Frisky and he was a
nice looking brown horse. Things started off all nice and easy, all of our
horses walking nice and calmly in a line. Until we got to the top of the
first hill. Then Frisky went a little nutty and charged down the hill in
the wrong direction. Luckily I was able to get Frisky under control and
make him go back up the hill and join everyone else. But, later on in the
expedition, we walked along a ledge on the side of a cliff with a
thirty-foot drop off and the entire time I was worried that Frisky would
spaz out again. Later on I realized that he might have been a little
loopy, but not suicidal.

That night we had a bonfire, I think, and the next day we made rubbings in
a graveyard. Then we went home.

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IV.

Horses, Horses

by skora

Horses now remind me of an ex-coworker, Lori. I miss Lori. She started the
same day that I did and sat in the cube next to me. She grew up near
Gilroy, California and always had horses. She had all sorts of horse
memorabilia in her cubicle and pictures of her and her various horses
tacked up on her cube walls.

She was the sweetest person. She never swore. When we would take foosball
breaks at work and she would miss the ball, she would yell, "Rats!" It was
adorable.

Often we would hear Lori talking on the telephone with her dad about her
horses. One was sick, one needed a new something-or-other that horses
need, and one still needed more breaking in. My friend Jeremy often liked
to make fun of anyone he could and he sat on the other side of Lori. One
day when she was not there and I was in his cube talking to him, he said,
"Hey, I'm Lori!" and picked up the phone and said, "Horses, Horses!" and
hung up. It was kind of funny. She did seem to talk about horses a lot,
but it was okay because she was Lori and she liked horses.

Then I got laid off in April. And Lori ended up quitting in July in order
to move on with her career. We still talk every once in awhile but not
like we used to. She's very busy with work and her horses. I miss Lori.
And horses just remind me of her.

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V.

"Lessons from a hard life."

by soko

	In the immortal words of Proust, "Illness is the doctor to whom we
most pay heed; to kindness, to knowledge, we make promise only; pain we
obey."

        I watched my best friend Boxer give his life to what he believed.  
Every ounce, every bit of his essence sucked away for the greater cause.  
He believed in the will of the people and that if he could bind his
strength to their cause, there was nothing that they could not achieve or
do. Back then, I had always been at his side. I didn't think to question,
so few of us did. Even when the taint of his own faith broke him, he
couldn't see how the world really was. Now I understand what so clearly I
could not before.  Boxer died a fool.

	Karl Marx believed in a utopian world where the burden and benefit
of labor would be equally shared by all. A world born through the tensions
and strife of class struggle. He glimpsed the truth, that for those who
could not rule their only worth as a man, woman, or even a horse, was what
they could produce in toil and suffering. He realized that if the enslaved
did not unite and become masters of their own destinies, than once the
slave became worth less than what he or she could give, the only path left
was to the grave and the glue factory. And yet, in his frailty, Marx could
not accept the vivid truth that stood before him. The chains that enslave
at birth can never be shed, and that even if one set of rulers be
overthrown, there will always be another group ready to lie, steal, and
kill to take their place.

        These days, I pull the cart alone. When I stumble, there is not a
soul who rushes to my aid. Sooner yet, comes the day when the cart will
take me away. But my friend, however hollow the term, if there is
something I have understood from beginning to end. It is that exploitation
is the nature of things. This being the only one true law by which all
things abide. One day, there will be a rock upon which my old hoof
shatters or a hole upon which I stumble and break my leg. Yet in my mouth,
the taste of the bit will never be bitter, because I have always known
that it belongs. The only lie I ever consumed, the one utterly vile
betrayal was the belief of anything more than toil and the grave.

        If there is one thing I can give to you, before my time has come.  
It is that there will be many a spinster who comes to you and asks for you
to give for the greater good. And each that time that moment comes, it is
best if you turn your head and continue down the path upon which you know.

-Clover

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VI.

A Menu for Horses

  by maven,

  (inspired by oregano)

Things Horses Can Eat:

Oats
Sugar cubes
Hay
Grass
Molasses
Apples
Water
Carrots
Rice bran
Apple cider
Vinegar
Corn
Barley


Things Horses Cannot Eat:

Batteries
Chocolate
Field mice
Concrete
Beer
Ham sandwich
Scones
Sushi
Barbecued chicken
Marshmallows
French fries
Poison ivy
Horse meat

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