I went unicorn hunting. Not to kill them, oh my no! But just to actually find some and see if they were real. And I think I can tell you, beyond any doubt, that unicorns are a mythical creature that no one has seen. For possibly centuries. Except in some strange forms as described below by these poor fucks who feel the need to share the horrible details of their lives with the internet.
Let’s look at some of those details right now!
Today, at the age of 57, my dad got a unicorn tattooed on his shoulder. FML
Dads are so great. They’re always trying to find ways to stay hip and cool, and quite often they’re succeeding. And even if they’d don’t succeed, you’ve got to love them for trying.
Except for this dad. There are many things that 57-year-old men shouldn’t have tattooed on their shoulders. Chief among them are unicorns, yetis, bugs bunny, mickey mouse and really any cartoon character that existed around the same time your dad was born.
But it’s not your life that effed in this case. It’s your dad’s. I mean, how the shit is he going to find a job with that TATTOO on his shoulder? Oh right. He’s retired. Nevermind.
Today, I was involved in a car accident and hit my head on the dash. I now have huge, very sore knot on my head. My boyfriend now takes every opportunity to poke it and scream “Look! A baby unicorn!” FML
A knot? That’s called a knot? When you bash your head on the dashboard and a lump forms, you call that a knot? I think that’s incorrect. I decided to hit the Googles to find out if there was any good information on baby unicorns. All I know is that, like horses, when unicorns are babies, you can call them fillies or colts, so there’s that knowledge bomb for you.
Oh and your boyfriend’s an asshole. But not as big an asshole as this next kid…
Today, while taking a stroll in the park, a kid walked up to me and asked, “Do you believe in unicorns?” I answered, “No.” He dunked his ice cream cone on my head, laughed hysterically, and ran off screaming, “BELIEVE!” FML
There should be rare occasions where stabbing someone is perfectly justifiable. You know, really heinous stuff, like when people answer their cell phones during movies, or when parents allow their kids to run buck-wild in restaurants… or when little kids dunk ice cream cones on your heads.
In the case of the latter situation, the only way in which this impending stabbing could be mitigated is when, prior to dunking you on the head with an ice cream cone, the kid asks you if you believe in unicorns. If, following the dunking, he runs away shouting believe, you sheath your weapon, nod sagely to yourself and mutter under your breath…
“Well played, kid. Well played.”
Photo by Gordon Ednie on Flickr. Used under Creative Commons License