Clomp-Clomp-Clomp...

...that Clomping sound could only mean a limited number of things. In this-here context, it means Clydesdales.

I'm talking about pure-bred Bud-fucking-weiser Clydesdales, my friends. And (check it) - guess who saw said Clydesdales? In the furry flesh?

Answer: Yours truly.

Picture it: 2001. Beverly Hills, above SaMo (fuck the slums/flats of BH). Knowing me, I'm unemployed and training for some stupid long-distance race like the L.A. Marathon. Among my favorite proving grounds/training routes is BHNOSMB (Beverly Hills North of Santa Monica Blvd). I'm panting along, minding my negligible business, when what to my wondering eyes should appear?

A team of Clydesdales, shilling for beer!

I shit you not. They were filming a fucking Budweiser commercial in the Hills of Beverly, and these were the celebrity horses at the center of it all.

I pulled the earsphones off my head and spent a minute yakking with a Production Assistant. Our words escape me now. Let's not say that drugs 'n booze have blotted out my memory... rather, let's say that I was impotent to mind the conversation, so mesmerized was I by the majesty of the Clydesdales.

Clomp-clomp-clomp, my equine friends...
Clomp... Clomp... Clomp.