Rant, Horses, & Dogs ~ My Emotional Support Group
- Bruno@Racingwithbruno
- Aug 14
- 7 min read
Well apparently, I’ve been “on a roll.”
Folks been sayin’ things like:
“Pure entertainment!”
“Word wizardry!”
And my personal favorite — “This is like bourbon for the brain.”
Now look, I appreciate the compliments — I do. Warms my handicappin' heart to know y’all get a kick outta my verbal venting sessions. But I gotta be honest with you...
I don’t do this for you.I do this for me.
Yeah 99. 9% good vibes feedback, of course there is always that one guy, the one guy that somehow has a hangover attitude torwards any one that isn't a dumbsh*t. These son of a b*tches would even complain about them blueberry pancakes with butter and fresh maple syrup at the Crocker Barrell. Once you had them, there ain't no going back, except for Senor Duphous.
You see, I gotta get this stuff off my chest, or else I’m liable to walk into traffic or start shoutin’ at squirrels like a Mountain Dew-fueled conspiracy theorist who just discovered quantum physics and horse racing at the same time.
My daughters? They just roll their eyes like I’m givin’ a TED Talk titled “Why Your Generation’s Music Ain’t Got No Gate Speed.”
My brothers? Man, they don’t even respond no more. They just blink real slow, like they're rebootin’, then hit me with that classic line:
“What in the actual F*ck is wrong with you?”
Like I just rolled in from a tinfoil hat convention wearin’ Crocs and preachin’ about the deep state riggin’ the Pick 4 at the Spa.
They ain’t mad. They ain’t confused. They’re just... somethin'. Tired of me usin’ five-dollar words to describe a three-dollar claimin’ race. Tired of me treatin’ horse racing like it’s the Zapruder film. Tired of me rantin’ about jockeys and trainers like I’m filin’ a damn Supreme Court brief.
To them, I’m just that sibling who shows up with a notebook full of trip notes, a theory about post position bias, and an emotional support huskies, both wild, like they just came from Alaska, and with gas like they got unfinished business with the ozone layer.
And honestly? They ain’t wrong. But they ain’t right either about their kin as well.
Because somebody’s gotta keep the torch lit, although keep away from Rudy with that torch when he is gassy. And if that makes me the family lunatic with a purpose ... then hell, pass me the matches.
My dogs? Yeah, they listen — but only ‘cause they think I’m about to reach for the treat jar.
The second I say, “Rudy, you ever seen a horse go wire-to-wire on a dead rail when the tide's in at Del Mar?” — he’s starin’ at me like, “Cool story, where’s the beef stick?” And let me tell you — the beef stick does not agree with Rudy. Joe, just looks at me like "just give the stick dude!" and just hope and pray.
So that leaves... you.
Poor ol’ you. You’re stuck as my blog audience, my therapy session, and my unwilling emotional support group.
Because let’s face it — y’all love a good sh*tshow. You know you do. Drama, rants, chaos? You eat it up like it’s funnel cake at the county fair.
Y'all flock when I diatribed, another $15 dollar word, for a misplacement of a gate or how we sided with Mother Nature during one of her temper tantrums. Momma didn't raise no dummy.
And believe me — yet, I’ve held back.
Today? I’m lettin’ it all go.
Horse Racing’s Biggest Load of Manure
You wanna know what makes me wanna crawfish right outta the limelight and disappear like a ghost at a Waffle House after midnight?
It’s the over-saturation of so-called “handicapping” from social media influencers.
Man, I’ve spent years — blood, sweat, and eye strain — studyin’ this game. Watchin’ horses move, listenin’ to how they breathe, notin’ the flick of an ear like it’s Morse code. I’ve paid my dues in heartbreak, in "why the hell did he check at the eighth pole?" moments.
Then here comes some dude on X (Twitter, whatever the hell we’re callin’ it this week), struttin’ around like he’s the next freakin’ Secretariat Whisperer online.
“I got the whole card, folks. Just follow me. I play biases.”
Oh really, Skippy? You play biases?You’re a “bias influencer”? Marking the hype up on horses that have proven to be the John Smith in any walk of life.
What in the absolute boiled-bologna hell does that even mean? Means they ain't that good, but crank up the hype machine.... Boom 5-1 when should be 15-1.
Everybody’s an Expert... 'Til It’s Time to Pick a Winner
These days, everyone’s an “influencer.”Yeah? right ? And I’m a Zumba instructor. Let’s all pretend, right ?
Me with past performances doing Zumba in class.....
Now we got folks postin’ about “horses” who couldn’t tell a claimer from a clunker. They’ve got logos, hashtags, and enough emojis to make a 12-year-old cry.
Best part? They don’t even write their own content. Nah. They’ve got assistants making it all
pretty, adding sparkles and seasoning it with just enough digital lipstick to make it look like they know what the hell they’re talkin’ about.
I ain't got time for that, do y'all?
Meanwhile, I’m over here tryin’ to decipher how a 3-year-old by Munnings galloped out against a headwind on Tuesday after workin’ in 59 flat while chewin’ a peppermint and side-eyein’ the pony.
But apparently, that don’t get clicks.
What does get clicks?
A well-lit selfie, a fake smile, and a caption that says:
“Feelin’ lucky today 💸🐎 #BiasPlays #TrustTheVibes”
100 likes in 8 seconds.
what the F*ck? 100 mindless gerbels htting the like button.
I believe its a conspiracy, its a fake 100 likes, someone is getting greased at the wheel.
“Trust the vibes?” What are you, a horse psychic? Are we bettin’, burnin’ sage or blowing smoke up someone butt crack? Just ask Pete Rotondo Sr about that!
Snake Oil in a Snap-pack
Let me be clear: I ain’t mad they’re gettin’ attention. I’m mad it’s all theater.
It’s curated, filtered, performative content designed to look like success — without earnin’ a damn thing, about them apples for a sentence full of meaning and purpose.
It’s Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition… for dipsh*ts.
They don’t want to understand the grind — they want to sell you the illusion that they already do. It's a grand illusion.
It’s faker than my cousin’s sister’s boyfriend’s mailman Denny’s disability claim after he “fell” off a barstool.
Let me just go ahead and say it plain:
I don’t change my routine for nobody. And honestly? You shouldn’t either.
We don’t chase hype. We don’t follow filters. We don’t trust someone with a followers list that reads like it was bought wholesale from a TikTok factory in China.
What we do? Works, no pun intended, well, maybe a little.
We’ve built what I genuinely believe is the best-kept secret in racing. We’re hittin’ top-choice winners at a 25–30% clip. And get this:
45–48% of the winners are comin’ from our first or second pick on the sheet.
Let me say that again for the folks scrollin’ while half-listenin’:
Forty. Eight. Percent. From our top two. No smoke. No mirrors. Just results.
And we didn’t get there with flashy graphics, bots, Tik Tok Followers, or “automated bias trackers.”
We did it with work. With sweat. With pens and paper like cavemen. Watchin' the races.
Takin’ notes. Arguin’ about headwinds and hoof angles like it was Sunday service.
So yeah — go ahead and buy into your “AI-powered speed projections.” Meanwhile, we’ll just keep showin’ up, quietly, consistently, and successfully.
The Only Influencer I Trust Is a ....
At the end of the day, the only influencers I trust is Rudy — and Joe, the voice of reasons in this whole kit and kaboodle.
Why? Cuz my boys got better instincts than half the internet combined.
While they’re postin’ poolside with their “bias tracker tools,” Rudy and Joe are just sitting there looking prettier than Dana Baker at prom, so I got that going for me.
🗣️ Before We Dive Into Today’s Blog Tent Revival… We Gotta Talk Business, Baby.
Now look — I know y’all come here for the rants, the laughs, and the occasional theological debate over multi-faceted epic fails and props in the industry, filled with bible prophecies and verses for the religious folk in the front pew . And we’ll get there, promise. But first… we got ourselves a good ol’ fashioned deal to announce.
I ain’t talkin’ coupon-clippin', “20% off if you sell your soul and subscribe to our newsletter” kinda deal.
I’m talkin’ real, honest-to-God, shake-your-hand-through-the-screen kind of offer for the folks who’ve been ridin’ this horse with me for a while now. As the good book says:
"The Truth Shall Set You Free"
A-men!
💥 The All-Inclusive Yearly Access Deal (Split It Like a Check at Denny's)
Starting now — and only through this very announcement — you can lock in our Yearly All-Inclusive Access, which includes everything we're cookin’ up (plus the soon-to-drop Fair Odds section that’s gonna rattle some cages).
Here’s the Breakdown:
Pay $899 now
Pay the remaining $899 on January 1, 2026
Total: $1,798 for a full year of insider info, fire-breathin’ picks, and zero bullsh*t
✅ This ain’t available on the website.✅ Invoice only.✅ You gotta email me directly at bdejulio@aol.com and say:
"Split me for the year"
Simple as that.
🧨 Don’t Wanna Commit to the Whole Year? No Problem. We Got the 6-Month Split Deal Too.
For the commitment-phobes or folks just joinin' the congregation, we’re also offerin’ a 6-Month All-Inclusive:
$599 now
$500 due on October 15
Same drill — invoice only.Email me at bdejulio@aol.com and just say:
"Split me for 6 months"
Boom. You’re in, two coffees please.
🐎 So Why Do This?
Because while the internet’s busy sellin’ snake oil with sparkle filters and AI widgets, we’re out here doin’ the damn work.
This ain’t content — it’s commitment.This ain’t hype — it’s results.
And this deal? It’s for the folks who actually give a damn.
We’re buildin’ somethin’ and have something real over here.
If you wanna ride with us — saddle up now.
No links. No buttons. Just email me and we’ll split it like kinfolk, I reckon.
Now back to our regularly scheduled rantin’ — where the only thing more unpredictable than a turf sprint at Gulfstream is where my rant might lead to you and you been spared my rant about Rudy's (the Husky) Gastrointestinal warfare, but the day is young stay tuned........