The Lake That Unicorns Could Not Swim
In October of last year Latigo Flint probably found The Lake That Unicorns Could Not Swim. The discovery received shockingly little media coverage, which fairly sings of a conspiracy of silence.
From the archives - October 30, 2005:
The Lake That Unicorns Could Not Swim
Latigo Flint has probably just made a significant paleontological discovery. This is rather exciting for a number of reasons--not the least of which is the fact that pretty girls tend to be quite keen to sleep with dashing men who make significant paleontological discoveries. No one is altogether certain why, but it is nonetheless a steady truth.
Anyway, this weekend Latigo Flint probably found The Lake That Unicorns Could Not Swim. How does Latigo Flint know? Well, it just sort of gives off that vibe. It's the sort of lake where if you stare at it long enough, you come to know that Unicorns probably died here, and in horrifying numbers.
For those of you unaware--the Unicorns that roamed our planet thousands of years ago loved doing three things above all else:
1) Standing in mountain meadows, caressing wildflowers with their velvet noses and blinking beautifully at stars.
2) Gently running their horns through waterfalls.
3) Swimming across lakes.
Of these, they liked the third the best because when they reached the far side, they got to jump out, climb a nearby rock and shake water droplets from their silken manes. This is how rainbows were invented, by the way.
But one lake held a monster--and when the Unicorns came to swim across it, as was their joy, the monster tore their throats out.
And it is this lake that Latigo Flint is quite certain he has finally found. Latigo Flint stood on the shore and called out over the water.
"Hey Monster!" Latigo Flint bellowed. "How many Unicorns have you killed through the eons you wretched fiend?"
The monster did not reply. The number was so high as to shame even a monster.
This was pretty damning, but Latigo Flint needed to definitively prove that it was in fact the lake that Unicorns could not swim. So in the name of sound scientific procedure, Latigo Flint stripped down to his buckskin briefs and swam across the lake.
FACT:
The monster in the lake did not tear Latigo Flint's throat out.
FACT:
Latigo Flint is not a Unicorn.
Latigo Flint will promptly submit his paper to all the pertinent scientific journals now.
posted by Latigo Flint @ 11:12 PM
7 comments
7 Comments:
A part from a few methodological points I think this a very exciting discovery. Wider than of purely biological archeological interest, the section on rainbow formation will transform meteorology. Still, I think the experiment would have been better if you had found a child pure of heart, stuck a horn on his head, pricked his arm til it bled and thrown him in the lake, as a control group.
Although a sad tale I can sympathise with the monster because unicorns do make good eatin'. But you do feel sick if eat too many in one sitting.
But there is an opposing school of thought though, Latigo. Why haven't you mentioned it? What is your real agenda here? Are you a paleontological fundamentalist or something?
I speak of the theory where vast rumbling heards of unicorns once rippled silkily across the great plains until the white man came with his "county fairs".
Relying on their sweet dispositions and lack of all fear - except for fear of badly played music-of-the-spheres, and who doesn't hate that? - hordes of slobbering pink gits coaxed the gentle creatures with ears of corn and cardboard rainbows into enclosures with hovering nets above them, waiting for a foul, brown-toothed, salivating and utter bastard to pull the Drop-Net rope. (Archeaological evidence and pottery shards have shown these rope-pullers to be utter, utter, utter bastards; + or - one utter )
The dear unicorns were much smaller at that time because it was medieval times and everything was really wee then, and that made them perfect for throwing pitilessly on hot coals, where their golden horns made convenient handles with which to turn them over and ensure even cooking. Thus did the unicorn become the first fair-food-on-a-stick the country knew.
With a little butter and pepper they soon became wildly popular for their (often very) unexpected aphrodisiac properties. Our expression "to get horny" has it's direct antecedant in the phrase they used back then: "to get stick-y". Some people in Iowa still say that in a kind of linguisticly enisled throwback, or lack of progress.
There is ample evidence of charred hooves and tendrils of sooty flaxen manes to support this theory. And recipes for unicorn jerky can be traced back as recently as the late 1700s.
Any real scholarly account of the unicorn's demise must surely mention this competing theory. So I put it to you, Flinty, what manner of bizarre extremism are you trying to drag your readers into?
Buckskin briefs, eh?
Golly.
I don't want to get all pretentious on you, but this is what professors and other stuffy intellectuals call a "non-sequitur."
If you are applying to be my sexy research assistant, Helga Von Porno--well then, application accepted!
If you're subtly trying to prove you're a better scientist than the mighty Latigo Flint--well then, Devil take your stinking eyes!
Like eating endangered species do you Hen? Let me guess--fried Siberian Tiger tail makes a tasty, crispy snack for when you're at the pitch watching a football game, and roasted Yangtze River Dolphin goes mighty fine with chips.
But that theory makes me really really sad Sam. And tears on the cheeks of gunslingers are the saddest tears of all. No, I prefer to believe it was a monster that killed all the Unicorns--one monster in a lake. And I found that lake... as I believe I have already mentioned.
Yes LBB, but that's why real men punch professors and stuffy intellectuals in the noses every chance we get.
Post a Comment
<< Home