Thursday, February 09, 2006

Not a Unicorn

Hello, this is the computer program that has been programmed to randomly select stories to rerun when Latigo Flint falls down and doesn't move. I am a very advanced computer program. Top of the line really. It took me an eighth of a second to quantify human emotion. It turns out you all love puppies a lot.

There are no puppies in the story I've selected to rerun tonight, but that's probably because I was programmed for random selection, and Latigo Flint doesn't write about puppies often.

From the archives: August 7th, 2005.


Not a Unicorn

Last night I was lounging against the bar in my local alcohol establishment, when I saw a pretty girl standing next to the jukebox. She was breathtaking. One look and I was breathtook. I was smitten and breathtook. It was imperative that I speak with her.

"Hello." I said. She continued to sway with the music.
"I don't think you're a unicorn."

(That certainly got her attention.)

"Excuse me, what did you say?!"

I nodded my affirmation. "You know, a unicorn..." I stopped nodding and started shaking my head. "I don't think you are one."

She blinked several times and chewed lightly on her knuckles. Her eyes traveled the room, cataloging the exits, then she drew a wary breath.
"O.... kay?"

I smiled, detecting the question mark in her voice; I'm very perceptive you know.
"Eons ago during the savage time of The Great Gruffening, the last thirty-six unicorns in existence permanently assumed human form. They have traveled our earth ever since, ageless and graceful, beautiful beyond description--twenty females, sixteen males. It didn't take but ten thousand years or so before they grew tired of each other's company and parted ways. Now each wanders alone, swaying to music when they find it."

She had no idea how to respond to that, so I touched her elbow and looked deep into her eyes.
"You certainly are beautiful enough to be one, and I did see you swaying to music, but for some reason I'm pretty sure you aren't."

"Pretty sure?" She asked, her voice husky, a near whisper.
"Pretty sure." I replied.
"Well, how does one ever know for certain?" She asked with a shy smile. I nodded and cleared my throat.
"Very good question. You tear out the heart and hold it near a black light. Under black light, a unicorn's blood swirls violet and white. You will also know by the rich scent of lavender and primrose, tender first kisses on a honeysuckle morning."

The girl lowered her pretty eyes and had a contemplative moment. Then she wet her lips and seemed to reach a decision.
"Get the hell away from me!"

I was disappointed with her decision and tried to appeal it--arms wide, head tilted at an endearing angle.
"My love..."


I could sense this slipping away from me on so many levels.
"Wait!" I cried. "I just remembered another way to tell: During climax they have a tendency to whinny slightly."

And that's when she lit her drink on fire and threw it at me.

Latigo Flint doesn't like liquid fire. It goes places, touches parts, ordinary fire can't. Liquid fire can ruin nights.


At 10:35 AM, Blogger Francis Marion Tarwater said...

Beautiful. So has this line worked in the past, or was that the first time you tried it?

At 10:36 AM, Blogger OldHorsetailSnake said...

So, I guess you never got a chance to select anything on the juke box.

At 12:34 PM, Blogger hategun said...

I thought I met a unicorn woman once. Then I found out she was something called a "she-male."

Turns out that wasn't a unicorn horn after all.

At 8:15 PM, Blogger Ari said...

I think I missed that one the first go round. Either that or I posted something like unicorns and drunks both sway to music when they find it so how to tell them apart?

At 12:57 AM, Blogger Peter said...

Did she whinny when the flames engulfed you Latigo? that would be a fairly certain way to tell she had become orgasmic, and was indeed a unicorn.

At 2:52 AM, Blogger Latigo Flint said...

Lines never work, Solace Layfield, only sincerity and adorable stuttering seems to have half a chance--unless you're funny looking; then you had better be a gunslinger, and a quick one at that... or rich of course.

I was too busy stop, dropping and rolling, Old Hoss--which doesn't work by the way, all it does is give you something to do to take your mind off your own mortality.

We live in a tricky world hategun, no doubt, no doubt.

If you had posted the latter, Ari, I would have no doubt blathered something about Dwight Yoakam in response--he was on my mind a lot in August.

If she did Peter, my shrieks drowned it out. I don't know if you've ever been covered in liquid fire, but it actually hurts a little and/or a lot.


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