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.

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.”

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.

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.

Pig Deal!

Sammy and Frankie were at the slop trough. Frankie could tell Sammy was upset. He usually had his snout deep in the slop. Sammy was barely pecking away at the day´s offerings.

“What´s wrong Sammy?” Frankie asked.

“Phil wants to fight before sundown” Sammy said.

“What happened?” Frankie asked.

“Nothing really. Sara, his girlfriend, just got done rolling in the mud and she looked good. I mean real fine. But I wasn´t disrespectful or nothing” Sammy said.

“What´d you say Sammy?” Frankie said with a worried look on his face. “You know how Phil is!”

“I just said ‘looking good, Sara’, that´s all, I swear” Sammy said.

“Man, you know not to do that. Phil is a hot head. He´s gonna kick your ass you know?” Frankie said.

“Yeah, I know. But I didn’t mean nothing by it. She just looked so fine. I felt like she pulled those words out of my mouth” Sammy said.

There was a sudden stir in the pen. Farmer John entered the pen with a rope. He was walking funny as he tends to do when he´s been drinking. He forgot to close the gate behind him. He went right for Phil who was sunning himself on the far end of the pen. He must not have heard the commotion because he didn´t move.

As Farmer John got closer Phil figured out what was going on. Before he knew it the rope was around his neck and immediately cinched tight. He recoiled in horror. Farmer John was drunk but the whiskey only diluted his judgment, not his strength.

“Should we help him Sammy?” Frankie said.

“Well, I´ll get out of an ass kicking if Farmer John takes him away” Sammy pondered.

“That´s not right. We always help each other when we can. Look, the gates open. It´s only him. His helpers ain´t around. We can all make it” Frankie said.

“Ok” Sammy agreed.

Frankie and Sammy trotted up to the back side of Farmer John. Phil felt some relief. For a moment he felt he could be saved.

“Go” said Frankie and with that the two pigs took as big of bites as they possibly could out of the back of Farmer John´s thighs. Farmer John screamed in agony and fell to the mud.

“Run” Sammy said to the stunned Phil. “The gate. It´s open! Run to the gate”

The three pigs ran for the gate and the others followed suit. Phil checked to see if Sara was in tow. She was. He caught a glimpse of Sammie doing the same.

As they made their way to the tree line Sammy turned to Phil and asked “Are we cool?”

Phil looked at him and said “I´m still gonna kick your ass. But we cool”

Brotherly Love

Frank and Al were competitive brothers. In fact, they were so competitive with one another that one of them would probably not be here hadn´t it been for the intervention of their dear mother on various occasions. A strange twist to their rivalry was that they could never use the same strategy the other used to succeed. It was an unspoken rule, but followed to the letter.

In high school when Frank started to excel in football, on the offensive side of the ball, Al went on to become the best defensive player. When Al took up and had success in boxing, Frank became all state in wrestling. When Frank excelled in the exact sciences, Al became the best student in the school in the liberal arts.

Their paths converged when they became adults. Both found their way into the toy business and both became the best in the industry. Frank ran the most prestigious toy company making high end luxury toys. Al led a toy company with a name no one would recognize but just about every house in the US had at least three of his products. His toys were cheap and ubiquitous.

Frank looked at Al as a junk peddler who inundated the US market with cheap Chinese trinkets. Al looked at Frank as a fraud who overcharged dopey rich people out of their money for nothing more than mere status symbols worth a fraction of the price charged.

Secretly, both wanted a little of what the other had. Frank wanted to move a little more volume and Al wanted a little more prestige for his company. Neither had the humility to ask the other for advice.

At the same time, almost to the day, both came up with what they thought was a unique, genius idea. They would send corporate spies to the other´s company to pick up a tip or two. Within a few months, both got wind of what the other was doing.

What hurt each one the most was the thought that the other copied their idea. This was a betrayal of the highest level, even though it was not true. They did in fact come up with the idea individually.

Again, both had another strike of coincidental genius at the same exact moment. They were going to have the other killed. Frank wanted Al´s killing to look like a car accident and Al wanted Frank´s killing to look like a botched robbery. Both put their unstoppable plans in motion.

A few weeks later Al´s car was ran off a cliff. The car rolled for almost a quarter mile before stopping, only to go up in flames. Frank was shot in the forehead while he withdrew money from an ATM late in the night. Miraculously, both survived.

Due to a request from their mother, their motionless bodies laid next to one another in the intensive care unit .Although their bodies were without activity, their brains were not. There was only one single thought churning through both heads: “I´m going to recover so much better than that jerk over there”

Nice Cock.

Murray was a rooster. Actually, he still is but I am telling you a story and in the story, he was a rooster. He lived on a small patch of land in front of his owners house. Most of these facts indeed continue to be true but for the sake of the story I shall use the past tense.

Murray was admired by all the hens. He was a handsome rooster. He really cared about how his feathers looked. He was strong and had a forceful, beautiful crow. Beautiful to another bird at least. To a person they mostly sound exactly the same. Murray would always talk about a love interest on another patch of land as to not approximate to any of the hens on his patch.

One day when he was walking the parameter as he is oft to do he came across a hen with her foot stuck in the fence. Her name Jen. Jen was a voluptuous hen. Big, thick thighs, a bosom so full it made her walk with a forward tilt. Her feathers had a shine that she worked on all the time to get just right. Murray´s attention was her upmost desire.

Murray came upon her, “Hey, Jen! How´d ya go get stuck like that?”

“It´s embarrassing, Murray. I would appreciate if you help me out and then never speak of this again” she said.

“Oh, ok, Jen” he answered.

He scratched at the earth under her foot, nibbled at the fence, pulled her leg and worked to get Jen free. After a few moments of toil he had success.

“Are you ok, Jen?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. My leg is a little sore but I´m ok” she said, shyly.

There was an awkward silence broken by Murray “Well, I guess I´ll get back to my rounds, then”

“Not so fast” Jen said coyly “you haven´t let me say thank you” she continued with her head tilted forward and a wing stretched out just far enough that the tip of a feather brushed Murray’s beak.

Under his feathers Murray was blushing. “I can´t. You know I have a girlfriend”

“She doesn´t have to know” she said as she moved towards him. No rooster has ever rejected Jen. The tip of her feather left his beak and slowly made its way down his chest. Strangely, she felt no reaction from Murray. “What´s the matter, Murray? You don´t like me?”

Murray gulped hard. He could never hurt Jen´s feelings. He couldn´t hurt anyone´s feelings. He saw that Jen would not take no for an answer. With his heart almost working its way up his thin neck and out his beak he informed Jen “Don´t tell anyone…..” he paused. Jen got her hopes up, “This is really going to happen” she thought “A dream come true”

Murray continued “Jen, I´m sorry, but I´m gay”