"Computer, tell me why a horse would buy harmful drugs from known horse abusers. Computer: A horse buying harmful drugs from known horse abusers would be an unusual and concerning scenario. Horses are perfectly capable of recognizing the dangers of such a scenario. There could be several factors contributing to such an action, including: 1. Lack of caring about the dangers of the drugs and the abusive background of the sellers. 2. Desperation or addiction, leading individuals to seek drugs regardless of their source. 3. Misplaced trust in the sellers based on cool video games and cheat codes they might know. 4. Economic hardship or lack of access to safer alternatives. 5. The influence of peer pressure or social networks within certain communities. Computers can tell us many things about ourselves and lead to many understandings and wisdom that we otherwise might not have arrived at by our own natural thought processes. Hi, my name's Bonky, I'm a horse, and I live in Sacramento with my horse-man pal, Pickle Horse-man. I've been engaging in a lot of high-risk behavior lately, and was asking my personal computer about the possible reasons behind this sudden and radical change in behavior and personality. The advent of personal computers in our lives has led to a dramatic shift in our behaviors, for better and for worse, and it's important we study the effects of this transition into the digital age so we can better understand ourselves and, just maybe, we'll be better informed for when it is time to act and make decisions concerning the challenges we face in this changing technological, social, economic, and political landscape. The truth behind the question at hand, however, is that I just don't have such standards that would forestall me from buying drugs from a known horse abuser. It's like dating an abusive lover, abuse is simply beneath or above the range and tolerances of my personal standards. So when a lover sticks a finger up my butt and then in my mouth, it's not abuse, it's simply a thing that happened. Likewise, when I try to buy hardcore drugs from a known horse abuser in my neighborhood and end up huffing a can of raid, it in no ways troubles my placid waters. It's just a thing in a world of things." I threw up my arms and stretched a big boy stretch and yawned. I saved the document and sent it by attachment via honkmail to my editor Jaleena Hargrave PhD., Howard University Alumn., 2015. Immediately got a text from Jaleena saying "Great work, Bonky ;o), this article is going to be a game-changer in the field of motivational psychology, you're sure to receive some major accolades for your unique insight. We should definitely do more like this in the future." I smiled to myself. Another breakthrough achievement under my belt. I was feeling pretty good about myself and had even planned on taking Pickle Horse-man out on the town tonight to celebrate. But suddenly, I heard a loud knock at my front door. Who could that be? I asked myself. I looked through the peephole but didn't see anyone there. I opened the door a crack and saw an envelope on the ground in front of me. I picked it up and opened it up, revealing a note inside. The note read: "Bonky, meet me at the stables at midnight if you want to find out the truth about yourself. -A friend." I shivered and shut the door behind me. What did this mean? Who could possibly know me better than I know myself? My mind raced through the list of potential suspects. It had to be someone who knew me very well and who considered me a pal. It couldn't be Pickle Horse-man, because Pickle Horse-man is an identitarian radicalist and I'm pretty sure he believes that no matter how much one examines another they can never truly arrive at total knowing. I scratched him off the list. Since his was the only name on the list I had exhausted my search. I was back to phase one. Exhausted. Alone. Never felt so alone in my life. Never have before and never will since. I decided to sit down and eat dinner and watch TV, hoping it would take my mind off things. I made myself a sandwich and turned on the television. There on the news was a story about a horse who had been arrested for murdering several people with their own household appliances. The police said the horse had been buying drugs from known horse-abusers. A chill went down my spine. Could this be connected to the note? Or was it just a coincidence? I couldn't shake the feeling that something was not right. As I sat there watching the news, my phone rang. It was Pickle Horse-man. "Hey Bonky," he said, "I heard you got some big news today. Congrats! Let's go celebrate tonight. I know a great place downtown." I hesitated, looking at the clock. It was already 10:30 PM. Would I have enough time to meet with whoever left the note and still make it back to my place by midnight? I decided to risk it. "Sure thing, Pickle Horse-man," I said. "Let's do it!" We met up downtown and headed to the bar. As we walked in, I noticed a group of horses sitting in the corner booth. They were all wearing dark hoodies and sunglasses, despite the fact that it was nighttime outside. I felt a shiver run down my spine. I hurried past them, trying not to look any of them in the eye, but my blood ran cold when one of them shouted "Hey!" I turned back, frightened at the possibility of sudden violence. But the horse simply held up a drink and smiled. "Want one, Bonky?" "Uh, no thanks," I stammered, before quickly turning away and joining Pickle Horse-man at the bar. I ordered a drink and tried to calm my nerves. What was going on? Why did these horses seem so sinister? And why did they know my name? After a few drinks, Pickle Horse-man suggested we go dancing. I agreed, figuring it would be a good distraction from my troubled thoughts. As we danced, I felt someone brush against me. I turned around and saw one of the horses from earlier. He grinned at me and then leaned in close. "You got our note, didn't you?" he whispered into my ear. I froze, my heart pounding in my chest. How did he know about the note? And who were they? I decided to play dumb. "What note?" I asked innocently. "Come on, Bonky, do you think you can lie to someone who knows you better than you know yourself?" They said, then receded into the crowd of dancers, disappearing altogether. My mind raced as I tried to process what had just happened. Who were these horses? And how did they know so much about me? I looked over at Pickle Horse-man, hoping for some comfort or guidance, but he seemed oblivious to everything that had transpired between us. Suddenly, an alarm went off in the bar. Everyone stopped dancing and looked around confusedly. Then, a voice came over the loudspeaker: "Attention all guests, please evacuate the building immediately. This is not a drill." Panic erupted as everyone rushed for the exits. I grabbed Pickle Horse-man's arm and pulled him towards the door, trying to keep up with the crowds of people pushing their way outside. We finally made it out into the street, gasping for breath. All the patrons stood around out front asking each other what happened. It turned out a chef had cut his finger while preparing food in the kitchen and didn't want to work any more. He just didn't want to work. He said he was sick of work and if they tried to make him work more he would fight them. But one of his sous-chefs was an undercover work-enforcement officer designated to keep an eye on millennials. "Oh, don't want to work, eh?" He said to the chef. "Well, I've got something for you." The police officer then pulled out a shotgun and blasted the chef right there in the middle of the kitchen. They evacuated the building so hazmat could come in and dispose of the chef's body and clean up the gore. "That's good work-enforcement," Pickle Horse-man commented. "Wish I could get a job like that." I agreed. "But where should we go now? It's already getting late and I still need to meet whoever sent me the note." Pickle Horse-man thought about it for a moment before suggesting, "Why don't we just go hang out at the stables? It's close by and we can talk there. Besides, I hear they have some pretty good food truck vendors nearby if you're hungry." I hesitated, remembering the note's instructions to meet at the stables at midnight. Was this a trap? It all felt so fated. I could no longer conjure the will to escape whatever waited there for me. So that's where we went. We walked to the stables, talking about nothing in particular as we did our best to ignore the fact that we were walking to a place where people had been murdered with their own household appliances. As we approached the entrance, I saw someone standing outside. It was one of the horses from earlier, wearing the same dark hoodie and sunglasses. He motioned for us to follow him inside. I looked at Pickle Horse-man, hoping for guidance, but he just shrugged and said, "Might as well see what they want." So we followed the horse into the stables. As we walked through the darkness, I could hear the sound of horses whinnying and snorting around us. The air smelled damp and musty, like old hay and sweat. Finally, we arrived at a large, open space at the center of the stables. There, sitting on bales of hay, were the other horses from earlier - all dressed in identical hoodies and sunglasses. "You've done well to come to us," said one of the horses, "we knew you could not resist the temptation to advance your self-knowledge." I looked around nervously, not sure what to expect next. Then, another horse spoke up: "Bonky, you are here because you seek truth. And we have something to show you that will change everything." The group of horses parted, revealing a large screen set up in the center of the room. On it was playing a video of me from earlier in the day, typing away on my computer as I wrote my article about buying drugs from known horse abusers. "What is this?" I asked, feeling my face flush with embarrassment. "This is you, Bonky," replied one of the horses. "And we have been watching you for some time now." I listened intently as they explained how they had installed spyware on my computer, allowing them to monitor my every move and read my every thought. They showed me more videos - footage of me writing articles, talking to friends, even sleeping in my bed at night. "We know everything about you," said another horse. "And we can prove it." With that, they played a final video on the screen. It was me, alone in my apartment, typing up my article about buying drugs from known horse abusers. But then, suddenly, I stopped typing and turned to look directly into the camera, "Bonky," I said to me via the video feed, "you already know more than every person in Sacramento, either living or dead." My mouth dropped wide open. I had totally forgotten that I had said all these things for myself. The memories began flooding back to me. "Because you are the smartest horse who ever lived, and because you have perfect knowledge and self-mastery," said me from the recording, "all that is left for you to do is to share your knowledge with others. That is why I have presented to you, on this day, March 11th, 2025 in the year of our horse, the Triple platinum Bonky Award for Excellence in Writing." Streamers dropped from the ceiling, I turned around and saw that everyone in Sacramento had gathered to congratulate me. Chants of "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow," started in the crowd, and they parted to reveal the Triple Plat Bonky Award for Excellence in Writing. It shimmered under the lights. It was a platinum statuette of an angelic horse flying superman style above a sea of gold coins. The award was so beautiful that it brought tears to my eyes. The crowd roared as me from the TV said, "Congratulations, I think you deserve this, not just for your writing, but for your honesty and fearlessness in exposing the truth. Now go out there and show them what you can do." Me from the past winked at me through the monitor. I looked at Pickle Horse-man, sitting on his bale of hay, watching everything unfold. He smiled and nodded at me, "You did it, Bonky. It was all you." And that's exactly how I felt - like I had won the lottery. I was no longer just a simple horse in Sacramento; I was a visionary, a thought leader, a prophet. And now, with this award, it was all finally embodied in a physical object. We had it hoisted above the mantle of the fireplace and that is where it remains to this day. I had finally found my calling, and nothing could stop me now. And in commemoration of this incredible day, Sacramento came to know March 11th as Bonky's Day.