Whatever your reasoning for being drawn to the magnificent and regal creature that is the unicorn, I think everyone can agree they are real. If you haven’t seen one, don’t feel bad; they are elusive animals hiding in forests laced with sour straws for branches, pixie sticks for leaves, and rivers overflowing with cherry flavored Kool-Aid–OH YEAH!
Today I decided to see for myself what the fuck all the hype is about unicorns and I went straight to the source: their fecal matter (better known as the Unicorn Frappuccino from Starbucks).
I couldn’t believe my eyes when I read an article online touting this delicious drink as entering a new age of coffee shop deliciousness. So I jumped in my floating cloud car and levitated down the road to the local Starbucks to see if this was true, or I was just having an LSD flashback laced with Willy Wonka daydreams and Lucy’s diamonds shimmering in my mind’s eye.
To my astonishment the rumors were true.
I stepped into the shop and the decor morphed from grey and browns into all the neon colors of a sunlit prism; it was as if Rainbow Brite sprayed vomited upon every surface. JEM sang in the corner spreading glitter and sparkles on every surface, and Rip Taylor skipped about chuckling his iconic laugh as he threw confetti high into the air which floated down upon everyone. Fucking unicorns are en vogue and here to stay, or so I thought.
I sidled up to the counter, and was greeted by a barista in clown face who honked my nose, squeezing a horn hidden behind her back sounding an “Ahooga,” like a Model-T driving through the countryside scaring cows. The choices were staggering, Unicorn Frappuccinos of all sizes. Waffling on what I wanted, I fought my fickle nature and made a quick decision of a grande Unicorn Frap. The $1000 bill of Monopoly money I handed across the counter landed me back a single $200 in change, and the clown faced barista pointed down to the other end saying, “Pass Go, collect $200 dollars, just don’t get stuck in jail,” winking as she said this.
I stood next to clowns and mimes, Oompa Loompas and Munchkins of the Lollipop Guild, while I waited for my colorful drink. Disinterested in the joyous menagerie around me performing tricks and comedic routines, I began to walk around. And that’s when I saw it.
Peering out back through a door marked ‘employees only,’ I could not believe my eyes. A whole row of My Little Ponies filled the back room, their heads tethered and held in place between iron bars. Their tails, once full, colorful, and arched, were now cropped to little nubs of flat top cuts sticking up off their asses. Beneath the anus of each beautiful creature was the ubiquitous Starbucks plastic cold cup. A stream of pink, purple, and blue colored shit with a consistency of play doh flowed out like soft serve ice cream at a Mr. Whippy. My intrusion unnoticed, a barista walked up and down the line with a black leather crop, whipping the hind quarters of the creatures, sending sparkles up into the air which landed atop the whipped cream so elegantly capping each drink.
At one point, a pony neighed and bucked in annoyance. In response, a Jester barista with a grotesque nose, goofy look, and three horned belled cap did an awkward dance toward the poor animal, and with a hand gag buzzer, zapped its back, sending it into convulsions. This caused the creature to lose its bowels, erupting the colorful liquid all over like a fire hose of thick emulsion. A herd of Oompa Loompas marched out from a small hidden door in the wall and dragged off the pony, leaving a smear of what was being peddled as unicorn frap behind its twitching body.
I was appalled and shocked. I had a look of terror on my face as I emerged from what I just witnessed, and when I turned toward the customers waiting in line, they nudged each other in the ribs, pointing at me. One mime walked up to me and pulled an invisible handkerchief from a nonexistent chest pocket and dabbed at the tears on my cheek. Then I heard my name called.
The same clown barista that took my order held up my colorful frap, and like a lava lamp of pony fetish, that intoxicating drink beckoned to me in all its resplendent winsomeness. I was hypnotized by its layered colors, drawn to it like sirens enticing me upon the rocks. I felt compelled to sup upon its luscious frozen body. Taking the cold drink in hand, I began to put my lips up to the green straw. But I pulled some hidden resolve from deep inside and broke the spell, stopping before I tasted the vile concoction. I threw the drink upon the floor. Its contents splashed everywhere and landed across the shoes of a ringmaster lion tamer from Barnum and Bailey.
I jumped upon the counter and took my indignation of this treatment to the masses. I was going to stop this abuse.
“Clowns, circus folk, munchkins, Oompa Loompas, Jesters, lend me your ears. We must stop this abuse, this treatment now. These aren’t unicorn fraps, they’re pony fraps. We’ve been tricked. We’ve been double crossed.”
Stepping back down off the counter. The crowd grew restless and began to swell against the counter in a high tide of stage makeup and bright colored costumes. Satisfied that I generated a reaction from the crowd, they now yelled and leered at the baristas who still retained the same red lipsticked clown smiles. I forced my way through the angry mob to come face to face with a manager with gingerbread face and icing mouth that moved with a upward arced line of candy frosting. I spoke over of the din of angry voices behind me loud enough to be heard.
“I will not stand for such vile, inhumane treatment. Now get us some REAL unicorn fraps. And I expect the whole treatment. If there aren’t pieces of real unicorn in that drink, I’m burning this candy covered shit hole of a place to the ground till there is nothing left but a sugar residue boiled down and cooled into a thick toffee coating on the pavement. And grind up some extra horn sprinkles and mash the eyes for the whipped cream. It better all be unicorn.”
My drink came and damn if that wasn’t the best unicorn I ever tasted. I hope next year they do a muppet frap. I’ve always wondered what they taste like.