A Guide To HorseyHotties.com

Any tweet that links to a web­site with the words “we need to turn this coun­try in­to a fuck­en caliphate as­ap” is des­tined to grab my at­ten­tion. As soon I saw HorseyHotties.​com‘s sales pat­ter for their dat­ing site I knew I’d have to join for the po­ten­tial for über lulz:

“Are you styl­ish, fun lov­ing and en­joy the so­cial side of eques­tri­an­ism? Whether its icon­ic rac­ing at As­cot and Ain­tree, or fab­u­lous star-stud­ded po­lo meet­ings such as the leg­endary Carti­er In­ter­na­tion­al with its Chi­nawhite af­ter­par­ty ‘Rock The Po­lo’.

… then YOU are a HORSEY­HOT­TIE!”

Ever since Peck­ham Fin­ish­ing School For Girls aired on BBC3 a few weeks ago, I’ve start­ed to de­vel­op a taste for Hen­ri­et­tas. I’m talk­ing about the kin­da bitch­es who rock that coun­try bump­kin swag but had no idea that Bar­bour jack­ets were in fash­ion, the kin­da bitch that thinks Kat Stacks is the name of a car­toon, the kin­da bi….ah you get my point.

Shel­tered from all of the de­prav­i­ty of Lon­don-cen­tric youth cul­ture, her mouth free of any ut­ter­ance iron­ic or oth­er­wise of words like “bare”, “jokes” or worst of all “cotch”. This is es­sen­tial­ly my ver­sion of Ed­die Mur­phy’s un­touched African bush bitch. She know would know noth­ing of Mattafix and I liv­ing that big city life.  HorseyHotties.​com promised those kin­da bitch­es, so I signed up, on the pre­tense of get­ting a se­mi-amus­ing blog­post out of it, but se­cret­ly hop­ing to find some­one be­cause I can’t seem to wank away the lone­li­ness any more.

The look she’d give if you tried to ex­plain WorldStarHipHop.​com to her.

To start build­ing my pro­file to at­tract all da babes, I need­ed a pic­ture that said “I’m just a nice and nor­mal guy in­to the same things you are: dress­ing like farmer, leisure­ly pur­suits, be­ing one with na­ture, fox-hunt­ing on the sly, wine, think­ing that Yeo Val­ley rap ad­vert is ‘hi­lare’, be­ing un­easy around black peo­ple, the word ‘ban­ter’, Ra­dio 4, call­ing any­one re­mote­ly work­ing class and young ‘a rude­boy’, be­ing an adult and still call­ing your par­ents ‘mum­my’ and ‘dad­dy’, hors­es” and oth­er shit I’m not in­to.

I pe­rused my Face­book pho­tos and found one that said all that and more:

A pho­to that says I’m a man of re­fined taste and a mas­ter of cun­nilin­gus.

To be com­plete­ly hon­est, I just copied and past­ed my “About Me” sec­tion from my Plentyoffish.​com ac­count (on­ly Al­lah can judge me etc etc), and min­utes af­ter send­ing it off I got a email from HorseyHotties.​com re­ject­ing it. Man, HorseyHotties.​com need to stop be­ing such a buzz kill when I’m try­na troll my way in­to some pussy:

Once I ac­tu­al­ly reg­is­tered and went in search of them fine dimez, it be­came quick­ly ob­vi­ous that the chicks were nei­ther horsey or hot­ties. I haven’t been this de­ceived since The Metro tried to con­vince me their three pan­el comics had punch­lines or a point. The bitch­es on HorseyHotties.​com were not the sex­u­al­ly re­pressed coun­try bump­kins I was look­ing for, in­stead all I got was chub­by 14 year olds:

Bitch­es un­aware that they can’t get away with the age they’ve tried to put on their pro­file:

C’mon Nao­mi, be re­al ba­by, you not 25. If you are, then we need to talk about chang­ing your skin care regime baby­doll.

To sum­marise, all the bitch­es are ei­ther bust­ed or look like small provin­cial town Toni & Guy sa­lon ap­pren­tices. Not a horsey hot­tie in sight.

I grew tired of wad­ing through pro­files of Twi­light fan­f­ic writ­ers with ridicu­lous­ly po-faced sin­cere ‘About Me’ sec­tions about be­ing ‘bub­bly’ or some kin­da waf­fle about kar­ma and trav­el­ing. I was nev­er go­ing to put a ring on on any of these bitch­es. In­stead I spent the rest of my evening look­ing at every sin­gle Youtube video fea­tur­ing Richard Black­wood (so worth it). But when I checked my emails the next day and found my in­box was flood­ed with mes­sages from girls lik­ing me (like that), one of them is bound to be hop­ing I might Row­dy Rod­dy Pipe her. As I write this, these are chicks straight fiend­ing for a wickedest slam from the orig­i­nal bed­room bul­ly him­self (and that’s just right now, I mean next week I could be tak­ing dou­ble book­ings and shit):

I won’t lie, I got kind of ex­cit­ed about the prospect of get­ting in­to Ox­ide & Neu­tri­no-es­que scrapes with some crazy broads since my anec­dote game has been slack­ing of late, but as soon as I tried to read and re­spond to my fan mail to set up some dates I was im­me­di­ate­ly hit with a pay wall:

What the fuck HorseyHotties.​com? How you gonna do me like that? I thought we was cool. I thought this post was go­ing to end in me go­ing on a date with Vic­to­ria, 24 from Lon­don and mess­ing up in a pre­dictable but adorable “Oh what am I like eh?” way. Horsehotties.​com you know what you got­ta do if you wan­na squash this beef.

But oth­er­wise I guess: