Bring on the dancing horses!

My friend Billy and I were painting one night about 4 yrs. ago. We were in a constant state of jello, creatively- it felt like a static position but in retrospect we were actually congealing at an imperceptible rate. Our wives were in their "moon" cycles to put it politely- and we were commiserating. We were in our cups -cheap white wine. I was disgusted by the whole female pretty pretty lil girls world- Like weddings and Barbie. Whole realities built on pillars of pink, purple and white wicker, pre pubescent furniture. I thought it was like litter all around my manliness. Like droppings from the ass end of an imaginary purity. A half ton of pristine glistening purity with coifed locks of brilliant lavender. Thus the meme unicorn poo was born between my friend Billy and I. There would be times in the presence of two or more women and the glitter would start to swirl into piles, inevitably one of them would break out with a line from sex in the city, whip out a copy of Martha Stewarts Living, a lathering crescendo -raise your cosmopolitains! Oprah for president!-replace the statue of Liberty with the eifel tower and be done with it! The great equine of arrested estorgenic development had fouled our oxygen with his do it yourself sequined soil. I would raise a brow and shoot Billy a glance-his brow equally pitched, turreted against the onslaught to our sensibilities. "Unicorn Poo" he would proclaim under the din of grrrl mirth. Wheat pasted like wallpaper, ambient to all but my ear. We would wait in hyper vigilance to the waning sound of strappy hoofs wafting faintly in the rainbow sorbet ether.