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Clip. Clop. Clip. Clop. The sound of my hooves against the pearl white tiles of the White House. Clip. Clop. Clip. Clop. My ears perked up to the sound of a good meme in the distance. Clip. Clop. Clip. Clop. Many people are envious of the first horse President, Leonardo Balance Derby. Yes, that is my full (and real) name. Don't tell anyone my middle name. I'll stare you down.
"Neigh" I said as my 62-legged brother cartwheeled through the door, his fifth eye twitched furiously. This was my second day in the White House, and the previous President gave me a generous amount of work to do. I am currently on my way to meet with the President of Goober, Mr. Dobbles, to prevent a war.
* * *
"Wow you look like crap, let me put you out of your misery," I said epically as I extracted a sword from my long, flowing mane and aimed it directly at Mr. Dobbles' sagging eyelids.
"You're one insult away from starting a war," Mr. Dobbles spoke, adjusting his hat and crossing his arms. His piercing eyes glared at me, but I wouldn't show him weakness. I knew one of his weaknesses. He liked pineapple on pizza.
"If you like pineapple slices on your pizza, I hope you like pineapple slices on your children's graves. You're weak, your bloodline is weak, and you won't survive the winter."
I stared back. More intensely, more viciously. My 62-legged brother screeched in the background as the maid began shaving his back without permission.
"That is it Mr. Derby! I can tell that you are not taking this matter seriously. After this meeting, I will have no choice but to sign a declaration of war. I will not have my borderline country threaten me with such horrid words. Good day," Mr. Dobbles says as he stood up and walked out the door.
"Oh yeah! This will just be like Clash of Clans!" I think to myself.
