“Unicorns? Unicorns? Tra-la-la?”
This phrase has been running through my head for two days now, often borrowing David Bowie’s voice and intonation from a bit in Labyrinth where he says something very similar. It just sits there, repeated over and over, refusing to go away. This doesn’t become dangerous until I start listening to Suffragette City and pondering what happens when I mash Unicorns and the Goblin King Jared and space stations named after David Bowie songs together. It may be congealing into a story. I thought I was done with unicorns. Alas, I am not that lucky. People are going to start thinking that me and unicorns have a thing (I swear to god we’re just good friends). Wait, ‘scuse me a sec, I have to go chase a chicken out of the kitchen. Peter disappears to chase a chicken away from the cat food. Chicken leaves kitchen with cries of Attica! Attica! The chickens really do get a raw deal, what
