Disclaimer: Howrse was created by Owlient. I own Bobby Jim.

Groaning, Bobby Jim opened his eyes and slowly sat up. He was in some kind of…horse stall, with fresh hay covering the floor and a feeding trough in the corner of one room. He heard the sounds of hooves click-clocking from outside the stall door, and smelled a faint scent of…horse manure. Ugh.

Bobby Jim slowly got to his feet, holding his arms out to steady himself. "Where the heck am I?" he wondered aloud. He last remembered playing Grand Theft Auto with his friends, Chauncey, Wilmer, and Artie, when he heard his younger sister Lula Lynn calling for him to come to the computer room to help her with…something. Whatever that something was, he couldn't remember. He went in, saw his sister sitting at the computer, wearing cowboy boots and a sundress…and that was it. His mind was totally blank after that part.

So this is what it must be like to have a hangover, Bobby Jim thought, rubbing the sides of his head with his fingers. Now I can actually relate to Uncle Jimmy Bob.

Bobby Jim groaned again. He couldn't remember what he'd been doing with his sister, he felt like he was going to barf, and worst of all, he smelled horse manure. How could this get any worse?

As though to answer his unvoiced question, the stall door suddenly slid open. Bobby Jim recoiled at the bright light coming in from outside, using his hands to cover his eyes. A high-pitched voice boomed at him. "Oh, good, you're awake!" it said.

Bobby Jim pulled his hands away to find…a giant talking monkey!

"AAAAH! Demon!" Bobby Jim cried, pointing a finger at the monkey. The monkey had whitish fur and wore a red T-shirt.

The monkey frowned. "Of course not, you silly goose," it said, "I'm not a demon. I'm Ow. I'm the mascot for Owlient, and I'm here to introduce you to the wonderful world of Howrse!"

"How...arse?" Bobby Jim pronounced. Ha ha...arse, he thought.

Ow walked up to Bobby Jim and bitch-slapped him. As Bobby Jim yelped in pain and fell over, Ow the Monkey stated in a matter-of-fact voice, "Ah, ah. A big rule on Howrse is that you can't swear."

"Sorry," Bobby Jim muttered. "Anyway, what is this Howrse thing? Is it a type of medication?"

"Of course not!" Ow the Monkey said. "Howrse is an amazing, enchanting website, where you can raise your very own horses, compete in races, and run your own equestrian center."

"That sounds really boring," said Bobby Jim.

"Well, yes, but only if you're on there every single day. Anyway, it's about time I get you to pick out the foal you're going to care for!" Ow the Monkey clapped his hands before leading Bobby Jim out of the stall and over to a nearby paddock. Foals of every shape and color cantered around, ate food, slept standing up, or pooped.

"These are all the foals you can choose from," Ow the Monkey explained. "Each one is a breed of horse that actually exists in real life. You can pick whichever one you want and name it whatever you what, but be warned! Once you pick the foal you're going to raise, you can't change your mind. Go ahead. The choice is yours."

Bobby Jim's eyes skimmed over each foal until they came upon a mangy, flea-ridden Shetland foal with a dapple gray coat. "I want that one," he announced, pointing to it.

"Uh...okay." With a wave of its paw, Ow the Monkey summoned the little colt out of the paddock. It walked clumsily up to Bobby Jim and stared up at him with dead eyes. Ow the Monkey eyed the pony with derision. "That's the one you want to keep?"

"Yes," Bobby Jim answered.

"Are you sure? Because I could tweak the rule a little and let you pick another one. One that looks...healthier."

"I want that foal," Bobby Jim stated. "When I saw it, it made me think of myself."

"...Okay." Ow the Monkey pulled out a piece of paper from nowhere and showed it to Bobby Jim. "Now, before you can begin caring for your pony, I want you to put down your information so that your account can be created. This is required for all players."

"Can do." Bobby Jim pulled a pencil out of nowhere and wrote down his login name, his password (twice), his e-mail address, his date of birth, his home address, his school, his height, his weight, his clothing size, his shoe size, his blood type, and the last four digits of his social security number. Once everything was filled out, Ow the Monkey rolled up the piece of paper, stuck it behind him, and snapped his fingers. A door formed out of thin air and opened wide for Bobby Jim and his foal.

"Congratulations, Bobby Jim," Ow the Monkey declared. "You are now officially a member of Howrse."

"Oh, goody!" Bobby Jim cried, stepping towards the door. But Ow the Monkey pulled him back.

"Hold on, now!" he said. "There's one more thing you have to do, and that is to name your horse." The Shetland pony chose that moment to pee. "What kind of name did you have in mind?"

Bobby Jim thought for three seconds before declaring, "I'm going to name him Mr. Fleabag."

"'Mr. Fleabag'?" Ow the Monkey frowned in puzzlement.

"Uh-huh." Bobby Jim nodded his head. "He looks like a Mr. Fleabag to me."

Ow the Monkey sighed. "Okay, Bobby Jim," he said, "you need to listen closely. You and your horse are free to begin your account, but—"

"Yahoo!" Bobby Jim cried. "Come on, Mr. Fleabag, let's go!" Bobby Jim raced towards the door, only to smack into its frame. He stumbled for a few minutes before shaking himself and running through the door. Mr. Fleabag was still standing in his puddle of urine. Ow the Monkey gave the foal a slap on the rump and it trotted after Bobby Jim.

"Eh. I'll talk to him later," Ow the Monkey said after a few moments of silence. He turned to walk away. "Now to get me some Caffè corretto..."

What will Bobby Jim do now that he has an account on Howrse? What's wrong with Mr. Fleabag? Will Ow the Monkey get some Caffè corretto? Tune in to the next chapter to find out!