ALL GOOD THINGS MUST END, CATS FANS!

So some fanartist drew a “sexy” (read: booby) version of a (cartoon) character who is traditionally very non-sexualised. Fans of the character got mad about it because it’s kind of groundbreaking how that character is written and portrayed and this art totally ignores the entire point of the character. They demanded the art be deleted. In response to that other people said, well what the fanartist did may be distateful but they have every right to draw what they’re into. The two sides fight for days and each starts a harassment campaign and even report their “opponents’” accounts.

So far so typical. But things eventually come to a head and they decide that this will be settled by votes - not through a poll. Through donations to a children’s education charity via each side’s portal. Whoever can get the highest amount of donation wins.

And obviously the horse is a beast on the ice, even more so under Tortorella’s rigorous coaching. I mean, can you imagine this thing on a breakaway?? Except he’s not the hard-hitting, physical brute that everyone in the league assumes he is. He’s sensitive. He’s patient. He’s got high hockey IQ and beautiful edge work. But the refs only see his size and his (ahem) pedigree, and the horse just keeps racking up the penalty minutes. Teams are starting to get worried he’s a liability, and Tortorella’s ever growing presence as the horse’s coach/agent/father is NOT helping.

In a pivotal game against their divisional rival, the horse gets a five minute major for boarding, and Torts is on the ice before he even registers his body moving, screaming at the refs that “it was clean hit! It’s not his fault he’s 17 hands high!!” But then he feels something on his waist. A hoof, somehow fitted with a hockey skate blade, pulls him back into the penalty box, and the horse whinnies softly until Torts stops his tirade and sits down, pacified. The entire arena looks on, dead silent, as Torts starts reflexively smoothing his fingers through the horse’s beautiful mane, the way he used to every night when the horse was still too young and afraid to leave his side.

Still in pursuit, we followed the ball toward a small lake in Motor World that had been earmarked for a fleet of tiny bumper boats for children. The area wasn’t open yet, but the empty boats were being tested and floated on the surface. The ball soared over the grass and smashed into several of them, scattering the others with rippling waves from the impact, which launched some of the boats several feet in the air.

Charlie and Ken waded into the water looking for the hatch. After some difficulty, they got it open. Charlie pulled Frank out by grabbing him under his armpits like a baby. Frank crawled up the bank, coughing and sputtering. He splayed across the grass as we all stared at the ball, which bobbed in the water like it was attached to a fishing lure.

We did not ask for the inspector’s report, nor did we ever hear of one being filed. Ken Bailey returned to Canada. The snow-makers cleared away the PVC. Told to dispose of the Bailey Ball, they rolled it into the woods, where it remained for many years."