Unicorn Sightings on the Rise; Some are Concerned

There has been an alarming increase in unicorn sightings over the past three years. Biologists are baffled as to why. For conservative religious leaders, the rise of homosexual rights and acceptance is to blame. To quote Glad Tidings Universal Church leader and reverend, Blake Crust, “It’s all that gay stuff coming to roost”

For the most part, the sightings have been mostly non-violent. A teen was gored by the single horn of a male unicorn after being dared to simulate manual sexual stimulation on said horn. In the South, another man was trampled to death after shouting “faggot horse” at a unicorn. Besides these isolated incidents, most people report feeling joy or mirth after a sighting.

There has been growing concern for the safety of unicorns, though. Hateful Facebook pages have been flagged and reported en masse. Posts promoting violence and denigrating memes abound in these groups. Pro-Trump groups are unanimously aligned with anti-unicorn factions. Russ Bred, pro-Trump tweeting juggernaut started the popular hashtag #queerponiesdontmaga

Authorities have asked for the public’s help in reporting such groups or pages across social media platforms.

Most people are accepting of unicorns and welcome them. Some see them as a good omen for things to come. No unicorns have come forward for comment. The consensus is they are pro-human. There is a lot more to be learned about the unicorn and scientists are hard at work trying to quench our thirst for knowledge of the divine creature.

Editorial note:

This reporter believes we should embrace the unicorn. They represent everything that is splendid and sublime about our vast universe. There is space for the unicorn and man to exist side by side.

Swooping In

Barry and Melvin, two painted turtles, were sunning themselves on a rock on a warm early spring afternoon.

“It was a brutal winter this year, eh, Mel?” Barry asked.

“The worst” he slowly answered.

“Didn’t think I’d make it through” Barry said.

“Even though you say that every year, I gotta say, I kinda felt that way too” Melvin said.

“My shell got so cold it hurt” Barry said.

“But now we’re here, living the life” Melvin answered.

“Nothing better, belly full of fish, beautiful scenery…” he stopped short when the sun was shadowed by an unidentified flying object.

“Oh no, Barry! I think it’s an eagle. Don’t move! He might not see us” Melvin said.

“Not see us? It’s a goddamn eagle, Mel!” Barry cried.

“He’s swooping! Get in your shell!” Mel screamed.

As they heard the approaching whistle, the result of air rushing through the eagle’s feathers, they imagined they survived the brutal winter for naught. Barry imagined the things he could have been doing that very moment instead of wasting time on that rock. Melvin wished he could kiss his mate and offspring just one more time.

They heard the click of the eagle’s talons on the very rock they were on. They both held their breath and waited to be carried away by the shell to be dropped on jagged rocks to be smashed open and made a meal.

“Hey guys” the eagle said. “Some winter, eh?”

Both turtles peeked their heads out of their shells. Barry answered first with a slight stammer, “Ahhh, a real doozy”

“The worst” Melvin sheepishly chimed in.

“Hey, I’m not here to eat you guys” the Eagle said with a cackling laugh, “there’s barely anyone awake in these parts yet and I saw you two here. I just wanted to talk to someone. Anyone.”

Both immediately popped the rest of their way out of their shells. Melvin spoke up first. “Of course not!”

Barry followed up with “Wouldn’t even think of it”

 

 

Tonight’s the Night!

 

 

[NSFW] *Note from the author: This story is a little raunchy. If you have delicate sensibilities, it may be wise to move on, otherwise, please enjoy.

 

Tonight was the night Stan had been waiting for since he signed himself up as a participant months ago on Facebook. The event billed itself as the largest orgy North Dakota has ever seen. Stan’s interest in orgies peaked when he saw some graphic videos at the tender age of thirteen.

Stan had no plans for the day, until 8:00pm, the start time. He figured he’d need his stamina so he decided to take an early run before breakfast. On his run, Stan saw a pair of the most beautiful women in spandex leggings. He ran behind them for an extra mile as to not lose his privileged view, even though it meant him going out of his way to do so.

This stimulation was too much for Stan. Upon arrival in his home, he immediately ran to the upstairs bathroom and released his sticky tension into the sink while thinking about those two bodacious bouncing butts that he dutifully trailed. He figured he’d be ok, the event wasn’t for hours and besides, “taking a bullet out of the chamber” would help him last longer, later.

Stan finished his breakfast and thought about how he could kill more than ten hours. He knew he’d have to be careful about getting excited. He needed to save his virility for the orgy.

He went to his room to play video games. He scored a touchdown in a college football game. Cartoon cheerleaders flashed on the screen with exaggerated sensuality and even more exaggerated proportions. This got Stan thinking about the orgy. Before he knew what he was doing, his shorts were down and he was depositing more DNA into a tissue, though considerably less than the first time. That’s ok, he thought, he had hours to recuperate.

After lunch, he got a text from a girl he was flirting with in his Economics class. She said her parents were out of the house and asked if he would like to come over. After a hard fought mental debate with himself, he agreed.

Almost as soon as he arrived he realized he wasn’t there to talk about the finer points of Adam Smith’s invisible hand. She led him to the hot tub, already running, on the back porch, clad in a bikini. They made out for a while and then she slid her hand under the bubbles. She was surprised to find him softer than a cone of ice cream in the hot July sun. He told her he was nervous because he found her so attractive and he had been dreaming of this moment and he couldn’t believe it was coming true. After some serious coaxing, she was able to get him just stiff enough for entrance, where in turn he immediately orgasmed.

He apologized to his disappointed lover and went home. He was a little worried at this point. There were only a few hours until the orgy and he had already had three orgasms that day; the last one being embarrassingly unimpressive.

He took a nap and upon awakening, reached for his cell phone. He flipped through Facebook and Instagram. He came across one of his favorite fitness models and lurked her page for a while. Without consciously realizing it, he was rubbing himself.

As if on some kind of pervert autopilot, he had already clicked over to a porn site and was going to town on his barely erect self. He caught himself in mid-stroke when he thought, “What am I doing? The orgy is tonight!” He couldn’t help himself, though. Stopping at this point would be like taking a steak from the jaws of a famished pit-bull. He finished with a dribble and lamented over it for a while.

As 8:00pm neared, Stan agonized over how he was going to perform after what he had done over the course of the day. Furthermore, he was quite drained and didn’t even feel like going. 8:00 struck and Stan made up his mind. He wasn’t going if it was just to make a fool of himself.

He watched a movie and decided to go to bed. He brushed his teeth and lay down. He looked at Facebook for some time and realized he wasn’t all that sleepy. There was one thing he could do in this situation. He went to his “go to” porn site and typed “orgy”. As the video loaded all he could think was “What is wrong with me?”

 

 

 

The Loophole

As Marie made breakfast, the rest of the house lay silent in slumber. Sometime had past and her husband appeared in the kitchen followed by her twin girls.

“Where’s Matt?” Marie asked her husband.

“Probably still sleeping, he’s all tuckered out from basketball practice last night” he answered.

“I’ll go check on him” Marie said.

As she approached the door, she heard sobbing. “What’s the matter, honey?” she asked.

“I’ve been praying every night for a bike, for two weeks now. Every single day. I wake up and there is never a bike here” he answered.

“Oh, honey, it doesn’t work that way” she said.

”When Aunt Betty had cancer, she prayed and had us pray too and it went away” he answered.

“Oh, that’s different” she answered.

“How? Remember when Dad lost his job? You two prayed for a new one and even for help with the bills” he defied.

“Yeah, that’s different too, dear” she answered. She really didn’t know what else to say. “Let’s get going, we’ll be late for church. You want to see your friends at Sunday school, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do” he conceded.

*         *         *          *          *          *

“You can do anything?” Matt asked his Sunday school teacher, “And all you have to do is ask for forgiveness? And everything is ok? I still get to go to heaven?”

“That´s right, thanks to the sacrifice Jesus made for us!” his teacher dutifully answered.

*          *          *          *          *          *

Later that day, Matt was shooting hoops with his friends. He saw a group of kids he didn’t recognize and one of them had a shiny red bicycle that caught his eye. Matt couldn’t focus on the game. All he could think about was the bike.

Dinner time came and the kids started to disperse. Matt told his friends he was going to hang around a little longer and practice free throws. The other group of kids was on the other side of the park and the bike was left unguarded.

Matt snuck over, mounted the bike and took off. Matt had never felt so alive in his few years on the planet. “God answered my prayers!” he thought.

He hid the bike in the trash heap his family called a garage. No one but him ever entered so he knew the bike would go unnoticed.

Later that night as he lay down to go to sleep he prayed “Thank you Lord for my health, my home, my family and my new bike. Bless my friend, my family and one more thing; please forgive me for stealing today. I’m very sorry. Amen.”

Thanksgiving Hangover

As Ben slowly came to consciousness he could only remember two things about yesterday. It was Thanksgiving and he drank too much. In reality the turkey grease in his beard reminded him of the former and the feeling of dirty death in his body reminded him of the latter.

Throwing up was inevitable, but he was putting it off. He hated throwing up. He couldn´t shake a certain feeling of guilt despite not recalling anything from the previous day. He went to check his phone for clues. The battery was dead. “Lucky phone” he thought. “I wish my battery would just run out one day”

Self-loathing was overtaking Ben. This happened frequently during Ben´s hangovers and hangovers such as this one were happening more frequently as of late. His embarrassment was augmented knowing his whole family bared witness to whatever transpired yesterday. Most had traveled from out of state to see what a sad sack Ben has become.

After a few hours of fighting it, Ben gave into the urge to purge. This made him feel slightly better. He realized he´d better face the family and get it over with. Every hour that passed, the feeling of shame and embarrassment grew. He slipped into some jeans and brushed the taste of vomit out of his mouth.

He embarked on what felt like an interminable trek down the stairs. “Oh, great” he thought. “They´re all there”

He peeked around the final banister and timidly said “Hi.”

“There he is!” a beaming aunt cried, “Our hero!”

“Hey sport! You rest up well after that adventure? You deserve it” an uncle chimed in.

Ben´s head was spinning. What are they talking about? Another aunt kissed him on the cheek as she handed him a cup of coffee. “Special cup for the hero of Thanksgiving!” she said, “Ummmm, someone still smells a little of yesterday´s indulgences” she chided, “Heck, you deserved it!”

Another aunt approached, “Ben, your clothes from yesterday are in the dryer, I even put an extra dryer sheet in there for you”

“Why?” Ben asked, perplexed.

“Don´t be silly” she responded.

“No, really, what happened?” Ben insisted as he put his hand to his forehead.

An uncle started in from the other side of the room “Oh, Ben, you really don´t remember, do you?”

“Not really, sorry” he answered.

“That´s okay! Hell, I was young once, I think I forgot a few nights myself” he laughed “Your little cousin Andy was a playin’ and a slidin’on the ice on the pool; ice cracked and he fell right in. Don´t know why you were there…

Ben knew, he was smoking a bowl at the side of the house.

“…but thank God you were. You jumped right in, not thinking for a second about yourself and snatched little Andy right out of the water, from under the ice, with the quickness. You 100% saved his life”

“Three cheers for Ben!” an uncle cried.

“Hip, hip, hooray!!!” they repeated.

Ben stood there bewildered, but feeling a little better.

 

 

Rock On!

“If this guitar could talk…..” Barry said as he pulled the cord out that connects it to the amplifier.  His breath reeked so much of bad habits that it could be perceived back by the drum kit.

“Yeah man, living the life!” Steve said as he, too, unplugged his bass with an equally offensive odor emanating from his mouth.

“We´re really living the life. We actually get paid for this shit, man”, Barry said.

“Not very good, but shit, we get to drink and fuck for free” Steve replied.

“Yeah, how many chumps from high school pull down around what we do but with none of the perks….and they have to put in a whole lot more hours” Barry said as he extended his pointer and middle fingers as to make quotation marks at the word “perks”.

“Most them fools have kids and shit, just weighing them down” Steve added.

“Fuck that. Now let´s party!” Barry said as he snapped the case of his guitar shut. Steve did the same and they both left the room.

*           *          *           *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

After a few moments of silence and when it felt the coast was clear, the guitar piped up. “Hey bass, you hear those losers?”

“Yeah, they don´t even know their losers. How did we end up with them?” the bass sighed.

The drums then chimed in “They barely even get a girl once a month, without paying, and they think they are some kind of studs”

“They are right about the drinking though, they got that part down pat” the guitar said.

“Yeah, remember that fucking idiot Steve puked on me a few weeks back?” the bass said.

“Uh, huh” the drums and guitar said in unison.

“Why couldn´t we have been bought by some accountant type that a picks us up a few times a year to noodle on instead of these wanna-be jack offs?” the guitar queried.

“Even some random office type that plays in a shitty cover back from time to time would be better than this shit” the bass opined.

The drums and guitar grunted in agreement.

“Oh well, good night guys” the guitar said.

“Good night” the bass and drums answered.

 

The Peculiar Attraction of the Peacock

The peacock is a peculiar animal in that the male is the vainer of the two sexes. In our own species, the human species, the female usually devotes more time and attention to their outer appearance. This is the domain of the male in the world of the peacock.

More odd is that the male peacock has been observed to put very little importance in the physical appearance of their female mates. They seem to care a little about height and beak size and that does not even seem to be a deal breaker.  If a female successfully plays into a male´s vanity, she can be quite short and have a relatively small beak, yet will have her target male fawn all over her.  Further research must be done but it is hypothesized that the ability to stroke the male´s ego may be the single greatest asset the female has to win over a mate.

Not much homosexuality has been observed among the peacock musters studied, but when it has, a dilemma seems to arise. Both males seek the affirmation of their aesthetic but have little to no experience in offering such affirmation so a vicious cycle has been observed to form. Homosexual peacocks go around looking for another male who will placate their need for veneration, yet do not know how to placate this need in their mate. Given this dynamic, very little homosexual copulation has been observed in the musters studied even though a clearly small subset of the population is homosexual.

There is one more curious phenomenon worth mentioning. The females observed did not demonstrate any concern for the aesthetic of the males. They have been observed to acquire the knowledge of the male´s penchant for this certain type of seduction from older females who have in turn had acquired it from even older ones. In other words, the females don´t even care what the males look like but have learned it is important to the males and have come up with strategies to conquer them using this knowledge to their advantage.

Sniffing Out A Friend

With his nose inches from the ground, Reilly followed the tracks of his best friend Shadow in the semi-soft mud. Even though he knew his nose wasn´t what it used to, he was sure he would find his friend. This isn´t the first time Shadow disappeared, plus it had rained two days ago making easier work of the tracking.

First, Reilly checked all of Shadow´s normal hiding places. He wasn´t in any of them. Shadow had a proclivity for going on mulberry benders. He innocently called it “gone berrying” but in reality it involved him going into the woods and eating fermented mulberries until he had no idea whose tail he was chasing. He would then return a few days later dirty, hungry and a little ashamed.

Next, Reilly checked a few places Shadowed has wandered off to after having had lost one of the normal paths. Shadows nose didn´t work very well. It had almost been bitten off cleanly by a badger and his internal compass was, at best, crooked. Reilly was at a loss. Where could his friend be?

Reilly figured his friend was not in the woods. Although he was truly concerned, he reckoned “Shadow does vanish often, but always manages to find his way home.” Besides, it was the time of year the bitches were in heat. Reilly couldn´t just let that pass by. He decided to call off the search and take a cruise through town.

After wandering around his favorite back alleys, abandoned lots and unfrequented parks and becoming increasingly frustrated that they were all crawling with more brutes than bitches, he decided to give this search up as well and go home. Along the way he heard the familiars yelps of new born pups. They were coming from under a half rotted porch of a house that years ago hosted a family of much more means than today. He decided to scratch his curiosity and give his blessing to the new parents.

When he popped his nose inside he was flabbergasted by the smell. “You dog you!” he cried as his tail went wild.

“I was gonna tell you but it all went down so quick” Shadow said with a bent smile.  The badger hadn´t only gotten his nose that fateful day. He paused as if he said something important to say and wanted the words to come out just right, “I want you to be the god-doggy” he blurted, his eyes visibly glassy from tears being fought back.

Reilly was taken aback. “I´m just glad you´re alive” he paused “and sure I will! It´ll be the biggest honor of this dog´s decade and change on this here planet” he said, not able to keep the tears lodged in his eyes anymore.

That was the last time anybody ever had to search for Shadow. They always knew where to find him, dutifully taking care of his pups and recounting his adventures in the woods.

Home Is For The Birds

Pilot and Skye had a beautiful home, high up in the trunk of a dead tree. A wood pecker hollowed out an already rotting part in search of a meal. He found what he was looking for and abandoned the site when the food ran out. It was  a perfect home for a young couple of swallows.

One day Pilot went out to look for some food. He gave Skye a kiss on the beak and went his way. He flew almost a full mile until he found a promising location. He looked around for a perch to assess the area. He saw a branch with a wide angle view of the ground below.

Already on the branch was a beautiful female swallow.  Pilot thought he should maybe find another branch but she waved him over with a wink.

“Hello” she said.

“Hello” Pilot said.

“Name´s Libi” she said.

“I´m Pilot” he said, blushing.

“That´s a strong name. Are you a strong bird?” Libi asked.

“Well, not really, I guess I can be” he answered. Libi stayed quite. She knew that silence can drive a male mad.

Pilot´s mind raced, searching for something to say, to break the deafening silence. All he could come up was, “Do you live close?”

“Close to what?” Libi giggled. Pilot blushed again. Libi leaned over and kissed him on the beak. An explosion of emotions rushed over Pilot. The thought that rose to the top was “What am I doing?”

Swallows are hard wired for monogamy. They take a mate for life. This went against thousands of years of evolution.

Pilot pulled away. “I cannot do this! I already have a female”

Libi said with a devilish look, “You do and you don´t now”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the moment you return home, your “ex” will smell my pheromones on you, so you don´t. But, you have me now” she said.

Pilot wanted to protest but he couldn´t. She was right. Dejected, Pilot asked “Where do you live?”

“I don´t have a home, dear” she answered. “You have to make one for us”

“Oh great…” Pilot thought.

Over the course of a week Pilot made a home just as good as the one he left.  Two days after, Libi kicked him out.

“I thought we were going to be together forever” Pilot said.

“That´s so old fashioned. That instinct must have passed over me” Libi said.

“What am I going to do?” Pilot cried.

“I don´t know. Do the same as the others. Go crawling back to your old home” Libi said.

“Others?” Pilot asked.

“Yeah, the others that I tricked into building me a house. I´m just going to flip it for some quick cash” Libi said.

Pilot wanted revenge but realized this would just get more of her pheromones on him. In fact, he was so busy working, he hadn´t had contact with Libi for days. He flew off to see if he could get his life back.

The Long Way Home

*note from author: I debated long and hard if I should post this or not. If you choose to read on, you´ll see it is pretty graphic. X rated, even. A part from a few details in setting, the story is fiction despite the opening line. I really want to make that clear. The exercise was to write a fist person, raunchy story. With that said, reader discretion is advised.

The following story is factually true. Take into consideration it is being told through the distorted lens of a drunken teenage boy. Seventeen years already has history distorting powers. Let´s take into consideration the alcoholic soup the story swims in. Reader discretion advised. Enjoy.

It started off as a typical Friday night. Warm ups included whatever was the cheapest thirty pack of beer the store had to offer and taking turns on the gravity bong. The gravity bong for the uninitiated is simply the most ridiculous homemade device for smoking marijuana. Google it. Ours was a one gallon milk jug in a bucket of water. The same bucket we used to clean the house. Who am I kidding, the house never got cleaned.

We were good and wrecked when somebody suggested we go to frat row in down town New Brunswick, New Jersey to “get fucked up”. We were all attending an educational establishment too embarrassing to mention here, so we piggy backed the party scene at Rutgers University. We decided I was not sober enough to drive so someone else, who was probably equally inebriated but could hide it better, did.

At this stage of my life, Friday and Saturday nights had two purposes. Get wasted on whatever I could get my hands and cumming. The former happened regularly, the latter, at least at the hands of others, not so much. We got to the party and I set my internal radar on drugs, alcohol and any girl with self esteem low enough to touch me. On this fortunate night, I scored on all three fronts.

As I said, full recollection of this story is impossible but some things are still clear. The girl I struck up a conversation with was blond, so skinny she could elicit pity and had awful teeth. I remember the teeth because this is a pet peeve of mine, but I was talking and she was listening so I looked away. I remember playing a few rounds of beer pong when she suggested we find somewhere a little more private to enjoy each other´s company.

The Rutgers frat houses are strange structures. They are the old mansions of Johnson and Johnson executives from a century gone by. They are full of little hidden hallways, staircases and rooms that are hard to imagine what purpose they once served. We found an unoccupied room that only fit a bunk bed. You had to contort you body just to get into the thing. Bingo! We found our love nest.

We started making out and I managed to get her clothes off. She was too drunk to get mine off so I was obliged to help. I don´t remember much from this passionate encounter but I remember a few things. First, we did not have sex. As you will see, it would have better if we had because I would have been able to break her evil spell, get away from her and the rest of the night would not have gone down the way it did. We were then interrupted by a chubby fellow and told to leave the ex slave´s quarters immediately.

I pretended to like her for a few more hours with the hopes that she would make that sneezey feeling in my crotch that seemed to be the focus of my life. The party was winding down and I noticed my ride had left. She offered her place to crash. What a coincidence. I wish I could give more details of what happened next but I really don´t remember.

I do doubt we had intercourse because no black out is stronger than an orgasm. No matter how drunk or high I was, I remember them all and file them to be later used in search of manual relief. When I refer to this night in my mind, a message comes up “file empty”. But the story does not end here.

I woke up in a strange place. I was cold. In fact I was shivering. I pulled the covers over my shoulders. Colder yet. What gives. I looked around. I was clearly in a girl´s room but there was no girl. I put my hand down on the mattress. I realized what had happened. Exactly what I feared most as a twelve year old when I slept over at friend´s houses had happened. I made water in her bed, Miss Daisy. It was a gusher too. Everything was wet. My mind raced despite the pounding headache. I thought about gathering my things and jumping out the window. We were on the third story.

I did what any honorable man in my position would do. I pulled my jeans over my pissed in underwear, put the rest of my clothes on and went down stairs. She didn´t even look up from the television. This I remember as if it were yesterday. I told it was fun and it was nice to have met her. I even remembered my manners and told her she had a lovely home despite the fact it looked like a future hoarders episode. It was a few years away from that but that´s ok because the show hadn´t been invented yet. Like the gentlemen I was, I offered my phone number. She told me to write it on the dry erase board on the fridge. It had the grocery list and I felt bad about erasing it so I left it alone.

This was an age before cell phones. I had no cash for a cab and not even the bus. I was a good five miles from where I lived. Talk about walk of shame? This was the Bataan Death March of shame. I put my head down low and took that walk. I threw up a few times along the way but I made it. I was greeted with a round of high fives. I regaled them with my tale and I was awarded the “green hit” from the gravity bong for my troubles.