Why?:I'm not sorry I ate your Unicorn
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Okay, don’t say anything. Just let me read the statement I wrote at the police station without interruption and if you want to punch me afterwards – Well, you know I’m gonna turn the other cheek.
First of all, let’s get this straight. This was not a personal matter. I would have eaten the Unicorn of any of my other neighbors if (and this is the point) they’d had one. But that was never going to happen, was it? What with Unicorns being mythical and all. What I’m choosing to call the incident primarily happened for religious reasons and therefore my eating of your possibly imaginary pet is protected by the First Amendment. No court in the land is going to convict me – especially now that there’s no evidence.
As you so rightly pointed out to me, only 24 hours before the incident – “God never mentioned these babies in that book of his, did he?” Well, no. That is true. Although I think you’ll find that after creating the Heavens and the Earth and everything therein he may have been a little too busy to make an exhaustive list of every last creature he’d made. There’s nothing in Genesis about wallabies or three-toed sloths but I don’t hear anybody using that as proof of His non-existence. Still, I took it on myself to destroy the evidence before anyone got to see it other than you, me and the guy down the pet-store that sold it to you. Let me tell you, I've had tougher steaks at the Hard Rock Cafe. True, the hooves were harder to deal with and, to be honest, they've taken a while longer to digest than I’d expected despite being boiled for twelve hours. Which is why I’m saying this to you now, almost a week after the incident. If it’s any consolation, the liver was bland and the swim-bladder was every bit as revolting as its presence in the offal was mysterious.
You may find it difficult to believe that I’m prepared to go this sort of trouble to defend my faith but you frequently find it too much trouble to put your pants on when hauling the garbage out so I’m not sure that your standards and mine overlap much. Perhaps you might consider that God sent his only son to die for our sins - and with the best will in the world Jesus did a lot more dying for your sins than mine, I’m sure. After all, it wasn’t me who featured on the last series of “Cheaters”. Did that poor Mexican girl who was hiding in your motel-room get home after your wife found you? I expect Joey Greco gave her a ride home in one of those SUVs he likes to ride round in. Maybe he also paid for the second half of her operation.
I don’t blame you a bit for not noticing straight away – those breasts were one of mankind’s greatest creations and you did seem to have drunk quite a bit of whisky. It was kind of you not to kick her out into the snow when she took the rest of her clothes off at which point you couldn’t have avoided noticing that her “manhood” was considerably more impressive than your own, as did several millions viewers coast to coast. Personally, I had great respect for your sense of Christian charity when I noticed how tightly you were hugging her to commiserate with her – even though she is an aberration unto the Lord and has no more right to dwell on His Earth than did your grotesque one-horned abomination.
I don’t blame you for precipitating the incident entirely, neighbour. I blame the pet store man at least as much, probably more. We have lived on this planet for precisely 5013 years next Thursday morning. We have explored, we have catalogued and in more recent times God has blessed us with the gift of photography so that we might record His creations. In all that time no one has suggested that unicorns were anything more than the product of the diseased minds of Ancient Greeks – and we all know what they got up to once the lamps went out. Therefore I do not believe that the manager of Frankie’s Pet Bazaar simply stumbled across the last remaining unicorn calmly grazing in Bryant Park, led it to his store and sold it to you when you went in looking to buy kibble for your dog – which, I might remind you, still insists on leaving a present on my door-step each morning despite your promises.
I believe that your erstwhile mono-antlered pet was the result of genetic engineering. We have had this discussion before and I do not wish to rehearse our contrary positions on the topic at length. I believe that interfering with God’s creation is a blasphemy that will surely earn mankind ever-lasting damnation in pits of fiery Sulfur – whereas you believe it would be cool to own a monkey that could iron shirts with its prehensile tail while giving you a hand-job. Whilst it is certainly true that He endowed us with the intelligence to invent these technologies, he also gave us free-will so that we might choose between good and evil. I chose to destroy this work of evil by ingesting it and, in the unlikely event of this event recurring, I would recommend a Californian Zinfandel to accompany the fetlocks but perhaps something with more body once one embarks on the rump. As for stewing its hams in cola – I will never trust Martha Stewart again. It was not a good thing. It was a culinary monstrosity to match your pointy mount’s creation. If the United States justice system was not run by left-handed lesbian liberals they would have kept her in jail for suggesting it.
Even assuming I had allowed you to keep this mutant product of man’s inhumanity to his fellow creation, what would you have done with it? You see, in His infinite wisdom the Lord created two of every kind so that they might populate the Earth. Mankind, in the unworthy guise of Frankie Mendelbloom pet sale-person and eternally damned genetic engineer, created only one unicorn thereby demonstrating his cruelty. He must have known that creating another unicorn for it to breed with would have been difficult if not impossible. Did he expect this animal to live out its life in solitude? Any male creature left without a suitable mate has only three choices:
A life of godly celibacy. You have not managed this since your wife’s departure, if the constant stream of young men visiting your home in the small hours is anything to go by. How can we expect greater restraint from a beast dumber even than you? A life wasted in the sin of masturbation. Did you really mean to condemn this creature to a life of such sexual frustration that it would be forced to attempt to “burst the wurst” between its great hooved front feet? Shame on you! That creature came endowed with a mighty procreative engine that needed a mate (I should know, it took me almost an hour to grind it up for meat-loaf).
A life earning never-ending infamy fornicating with species God created to multiply with their own kind. You never tire of telling me about your uncle’s buffalo-reserve back in Wyoming but sending poor Uni there to sin our native cattle would only compound the offence of creating him in the first place. Only by digesting could I save him from this depraved future.
If, on the other hand, you had only told me that you’d bought a Shetland Pony for your daughter and Crazy Glu-ed a cow horn to its forehead I probably would have settled for pizza.