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Worst fears realised; unicorn was not a hallucination

FUCK YOU, CYNTHIA

Alright, so my busybody fiancée has just fucked my head in.

You know what really sucks about having hallucinations?

WHEN THEY'RE NOT HALLUCINATIONS AT ALL

At Howitzer's afterparty, while I was busy standing on the lawn, shaking off the fear and watching a monkey on fire run down the road, Cynthia was down the street at Montblanc's, scoring an 8-ball for Zoe and the rest of her idiot friends.

And she just happened to be leaving Montblanc's when, you guessed it, my hallucination galloped past.

Not only did she see it, but she got a fucking photo of the thing:





Sure, you can't see the horn very well cause she had the shakes from doing too much snifter, but there you have it, a My Little Unicorn clippy-clopping down the street.

I have no idea what any of this means. A monkey on fire or a unicorn riding past as isolated incidents wouldn't be too bad. Strange things tend to happen in life, normally when you least want them to. But both? In one night? In minutes of each other?

One thing I noticed at that party was how many times I heard tha name Sigmund Papyrus. I also had a blank envelope pushed through my door in the middle of the afternoon today. Inside it was a sheet of paper with this logo printed on the middle:



I dunno, it's a 'P' and it has a barbed point, which is sort of like an upside down 'A'. Well, it could be. Perhaps I'm looking too hard and just finding what I want to find. Cynthia thinks I'm still coming down and just getting paranoia relapse. Whatever it is, there's some dark huhu going on in the city at the moment and I really don't want to be involved in it.

But knowing my friends, I probably will.

Totally too hairy even for Felix at Grandmaster Howitzer's afterparty

So, 2AM at Howi's, the walls were vibrating and my jaw coming loose from half a G of crystal madman. Atmosphere was just, like, so totally Put another dime in the jukebox, baby. Howi dropped that Thanatos track from 3 years ago, the whole mansion detonated and I lost Nina and Luca somewhere in the middle of a marble ballroom jackloaded with gurnfucks. Shit, Christ, I was coming up strong and the bass was tearing me apart, my whole body hotwired and my limbs just trying to ride out the storm, but this was a tide that was gonna suck me under and everyone's heads were jack-o-lanterns, leering at a sky that had opened up across the dancefloor.

This is what they call the fear and this is when it kicks the shit out of you. I stumbled the hell out, thinking about neutral space, finding some visuals, getting level and chill, all that hippy shit people recite when someone's got bad juju in their head. Problem was that Thanatos track sucked every freakboy in the mansion to the ballroom, even the ones passed out on the stairs and the rest of the scattered dead, lost inside K-holes, who drifted along on the current of a shambling, bewildered stampede.

Finally outside, I stood on the lawn overlooking the road, and I'm telling you, baby, there's no cure for the juju like standing under a sky so black that when you look up, you feel like you're falling into it. Some hippy dude sitting on the wall just sat there nodding at me as if to say, I know you you feel, maaaaaan. So let me get this straight, right, I normally know my limits, but this party was something else and it felt kinda selfish to not go crazy. The party demanded it, the mansion fucking spoke to me. They even put bowtied muscle with walkie-talkies on the door to keep the churls and crackheads out. You felt fucking honoured to be there, like the whole word had assembled all these people into this small place just so you, you and only you, could have the time of your goddamn life.

The calm lasted about 2 minutes. It was the hippy's eyes that did it. They went from that doleful, slightly weary gaze which all hippies seem to share into a sudden pierce of horror. I guessed he was just having a flashback, but then I heard some woman behind me scream and I turned to see a ball of fire tearing down the road in a zigzag path, crashing against cars, weaving across the pavement, scorching wooden fences and topiaries. Everyone took a step back even though we were fairly safe behind the stone fence of Howitzer's mansion.

Then I took out my camera and managed to get one shot:


The most terrifying thing about it wasn't the heat or the light or the smoke. It was the noise. Whatever was on fire was alive. And it was screaming. It was the noise of something being tortured to death, something knowing it's going to die, no matter what happens and no matter who comes to the rescue.

Some woman across the other side of the lawn kept saying, "That was a monkey, I saw its face, someone set a monkey on fire."

So there you have it. The picture above is what a monkey looks like when it's on fire.

The strange thing is, seeing a monkey on fire run past actually totally straightened me out. I was just about to go back inside to score more madman from the dealer room upstairs when I heard someone say, "What the fuck is this shit all about, man?"

I heard someone else mutter, Sigmund Papyrus.

I looked over my shoulder and galloping down the street in the same direction as the monkey was a white horse with a long single horn sticking out from between its eyes.

A unicorn. I wrote this one off as a hallucination and promised myself that I'd never go outside again.

Never go outside. Absolutely goddamn right. Unless you were going all the way.

But anyway, enough about all that shit. Check out this Howitzer poster I stole from the toilet wall!