I wish I owned an Unicorn. Not just because of their sparkling beauty, but because I want to get high. As high as the atmosphere, baby, reach the moon and kiss it’s silvery dust.

You see, unicorns’s horns can be used as an euphoric drug if you lick it like an ice cream cone. The unicorn doesn’t like it. It even might stab you to death with it’s horn if you try. But, as I have licked a horn before, it’s worth a go.

That’s why I’m in Mexico right now. I plan on running with the unicorns. It’s a festival where about a hundred people sprint for their lives to get away from about eight angry, impaling, full-grown unicorns.

I bet if I wrestle one of them down, like I saw that guy do on YouTube, I’d be able pop off it’s horn. God, I’m desperate enough to try.

I hear the church bells ring. It’s almost time. I’d better get down to the street where everyone will be running before all the good spaces are taken.