And the loveliest of all...

The web is like the world only weirder.

That's my extremely deep and obviously meaningful thought for today. I could rabbit on about how the existence of the web may be an early sign that we're close to discovering exactly what the universe is for and why we are here. Such lapining would be based on a Douglas Adams quote:

There is a theory which states that if anyone discovers just exactly what the universe is for and why we are here, that it will instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable.

It seems clear to me (in a very back-of-a-beer-coaster theoretical way) that the Internet is a contender for replacement of the current universe. How long will it be before we plumb ourselves with nutrient feed-lines and jack into a better than life experience? Come on; stick with me on this one. Just imagine that web content does improve. Pretend that you can filter out the gits and whiners and pretenders and spam and incompatibilities and...

Bugger. There goes that argument. There'll be no mass migration to virtual life any time in the near future.

Until a couple of days ago I wasn't aware of the vast glurge mires that are spreading across the webscape. These seem to form naturally wherever there is a confluence of teenage wish-fulfilment literature, excessive spare time and access to daddy's AOL connection. The most cloying of these bogs have a sickly miasma of unicorniness: pictures, stories, poems, myths etc. Some even pose questions like "Are you a unicorn?" and "What does the bible say about unicorns?"

There's a message here for all of us. We can't continue to ignore the importance of the unicorn. To do so would be to disbar ourselves from the richness of discovering our inner unicorns. Your unicorn may have lived a life filled with adventure. Can you afford to miss out on that banquet of narrative--that epiphany of self-understanding? I took the time to explore. I sought the noble beauty inside me. The revelation came to me as a story told by a quiet voice inside my head:

Not many people realise that I used to be a unicorn. How could I once be a unicorn and then no longer? Pour me another glass and I'll tell the tale...

Ah, thanks. Story telling is thirsty work.

On the last day of the battle of Greenthorpe Valley, I and my two brothers were defending Queen Evenhope against a score of berserk trolls. The battle had not gone well that day, but I won't recount the treachery that pushed us to the limits of our strength; suffice to say that we were outnumbered and almost overrun. Evenhope had exhausted her fire and had barely the stamina to cloud the vision of the trolls with her light.

I felt the bilious churn of fell magic and turned to see an ogre appear behind my Queen's back. The ogre raised her axe but I was fast and desperate. The blow never touched the Queen. I blocked the blade on the tip of my horn then dispatched the ogre. Within minutes a horn blast echoed from the southern end of the valley and the trolls fled.

We were victorious.

That same night, the cost of my valour was revealed. The ogre's attack had been meant for me. The ebony blade had notched the tip of my horn, the focus of my might. By morning my horn had split down the centre and the two sides were starting to curl. My hooves began to divide and I knew my purity was lost.

I took my leave of the kingdom while I still had the honour and willpower to do so. The descent from a beast of purity to a creature of taint takes several weeks, but it is complete and irreversible. The noble animal becomes filled with trickery and deceit. On no account should you believe a story told by such a vile creature. Thanks for the drink, sucker.