Friendly Unicorns Roam the Streets of My Acid Dreams

As a child, my mother always told me to keep away from the beehive because there were bees in it. I never listened to her because she is a crazy person, and at night I would go outside in the dark and play with the bees in a magical beeland that only I knew about. Oh what great adventures we would have, I would be the king bee and all the bees were my friends, my only friends. Looking back on those carefree days of honey and hive, I weep. Today all my bees are dead, burned in my mother’s fire of hatred for anything that produces honey or milk or eggs. One day she was burning our cows again and I sneaked out through a hole in the fence and started life as a traveling beekeeper, hoping to once again find the love and happiness that my heart once knew.

I found myself in the cruel Arizona desert, where everything is either dead or a cactus or a snake. There is a lot of dirt and dust in the desert too, but it is not alive. I sought shelter in the beautiful oasis town of Mesa, Arizona. Upon arriving, I found the town to be an amazing wonderland of joy and delight. The sky is filled with beautiful rainbows and gentle unicorns wander the safe streets and eat candy from the hands of children. I danced in the streets to the beautiful music of angels playing harps until the sun went down, at which point I rode a unicorn to a delightful house which was made of gold and had unicorns sleeping in the garden and carpets made of the finest Ewok fur.

When I woke the next morning the acid had worn off and I saw the town for what it really is. I opened my window and realized that the unicorns were actually hobos and rusty shopping carts, my shiny new house was a dumpster outside of Taco Bell, and the window I had just opened was a pile of week-old 79 cent bean burritos with rats inside. That was first time I had eaten breakfast for weeks and let me tell you my friends, I ate well.

Finding myself sober in a strange land, I decided to compile a list of important tasks:

• Find somewhere to live.
• Find some bees or friends.
• Get out of dumpster.
• Find pants.
• Find a job or a large sum of money.

I climbed out of the dumpster and proceeded to walk around the city crying and arguing loudly with buildings and cacti, before collapsing in the middle of the treet and being hit by a tuck with a picture of a bug on the side (maybe some kind of beetle, I am not sure).

This amazing adventure of discovery and intrigue occurred almost two months ago today, and since then I have found a nice little apartment and I am making minimum wage grooming chickens for a nice man who likes to take his fancy chickens to fancy chicken shows. In the few weeks I have been living in the big city, I have discovered several important facts that may be useful to the three people who are still reading this out of either pity or insanity.

A Hobo.

Hobos are not all friendly jolly old men, even if they are dressed like Santa Claus.

Within the first week of moving here, I was chased by hobos approximately seventeen times. Sometimes they shout things at me, and sometimes they throw their shoes. I once thought hobos were cuddly like teddy bears and I tried hugging a few, but hobos are not filled with soft cushioning like teddy bears but with bitterness, anger, and cheap vodka.

Grocery shopping requires a lot of practice.

Back on the farm we grew our own food, except eggs which come from chickens. In the city it is not easy to grow you own food unless you like to eat dead leaves and cockroaches. During my first trip to the grocery store I attempted to buy some apples, becase I like to eat apples. I chose some nice looking ones from the pile, and put them in a bag. A lovely middle-aged overweight woman shopping next to me noticed this, and proceeded to save me from the horrors of badappledom.

"You do not want to eat those apples," she said. "Take these ones instead."

"What is wrong with these apples?" I asked.

"They are onions."

"Oh."

There is a grizzly bear living in my bathroom.

He is asleep right now. I feed him fish mostly, and sometimes sandwiches. I don’t know what to do about him because sometimes he tries to claw my face but if I let him go I will be alone again.

I must stop writing now, because if I keep going then I will make a joke even worse than the apple one and I will never write in this town again. I am going to get drunk and talk to my plant about my feelings.

– Tom "moof" Davies