Chapter 3: How I became an above average Unicorn fighter

You don’t go through life, specifically junior high and high school, unscathed with a name like Chester. One could say that I had my fair share of brushes with bullies, stuck up chicks and high school career coaches. Perhaps it is the way that “Chester” leaves your lips or how it is usually associated with cuddily, chubby and cardigans. My friend Georgie once explained it to me this way. “When I hear your real name Chesty, I think of a red sweater wearing Englishman with a handle bar mustache and a curved pipe.”
Perhaps if I had been born in Victorian England just before the turn of the century, I would have had a bit more luck with the bullies, ladies and guidance counselors, but luck is a wily vixen that I have yet to snare in my embrace.

So as my right foot crossed the threshold of Royal Palm Junior High on the 29^th of August too many years ago to remember, it was open season on Chester Vaughn Higgendorf. It seems that the game and fish were giving out a lot of tags for the “Chester” those years, as I was hunted mercilessly through the locker rooms, cafeterias and hall ways of the Arizonan public schools.
I truly believe that there was even a section at the local Sportsman Warehouse where they sold “Chester” blinds or “Chester” calls or maybe even “Chester” camouflage, because the spit wads, swirlies and wedgies would come out of now where.
I would be walking down a hallway, making my way to Chemistry and before I knew it, my head would be in a toilet with my hair spinning like a pinwheel.
I didn’t even know where they got the toilet, or how I got into the bathroom, they were that good. In fact, if I hadn’t been the benefactor of the act, I would have been supremely impressed with their stealth and skill set.

What does this have to do with the Unicorn Wars or how I became a Unicorn fighter? Why do I bring up this unflattering aspect of my past, you ask?  That’s easy. The daily attacks, the snide remarks, the career advisements to not bother with going to college, as I “am not a good fit for traditional education” and that I should “find happiness in the services industry”, molded me into a human patriot missile.
Not a blunt weapon of war, but an instrument of precision, sharpened to an edge. My whole post pubescent life had been a training ground to fight supposed mythical creatures, that appeared benign, but inwardly vicious. Freak-a-zoid! I had been fighting those type of creatures my whole life. So you see, a pony with a bone mass on it’s forehead isn’t going to give me too much trouble, I had already dealt with Samantha Davidson and Chase McDermott. So when I first saw the news report about the battle at Disney World, I knew my time to shine had come. I laid my Taco Bell hat down on the front counter. I told my manager to “stick it”, got into my geo metro and I sped home to my Mom’s basement to pack and tell my Mom I was going to volunteer.
Little did I know of what lay ahead.

Chapter 2: It Begins

Everyone has heard the “official” story of how it all supposedly began. The “Watanga” asteroid, named after Dr. Mugumba Bol Hutt-atoe Watanga who “discovered” it, slammed into the Turkey Point Station Nuclear power Plant in Florida. The nuclear waste and asteroid dust spilled into the nearby swamp changing the DNA make up of the indigenous Eastern Narrowmouth Toad and making them vampiric and three times their natural size.

The new Vampiric Eastern Narrowmouth Fanged Toad emerged from its slimy habitat and began to feed. As the fates would have it, the Murphy Family Horse Ranch borders on the edge of the swamp. A more terrible coincidence could not have been imagined.
As you know, Gerald T. Murphy, not to be confused with his cousin Gerald P. Murphy the inventor of the TANG knock off, WANG , was for decades manipulating the breeding habits of Iberian Stallions. He had created, what he labeled “the horse master race”, a breed of horses, faster, stronger and more agile than any other on the planet.

A breed that became the Vampiric Eastern Narrowmouth Fanged Toad’s favorite prey.
Through some type of chemical interaction, that to this day still baffles world renowned astro-chemists, the Toad’s saliva combined with the manipulated DNA of the Murphy Iberian Stallions to create the new species Horsicus Terriblicus Scaricus.
The name Unicorn became popularized by the media months after the first incidents, because of the unsightly bone protrusion that emerged from the horse’s skulls. The association to the fabled Unicorn was easy to make and the name stuck. The majestic and kind Unicorn of the past would forever be tainted by the stain of this genetic monster.

The Murphy Iberian Stallions or if you prefer “Unicorns”, had metamorphosized into creatures far more terrible than our imaginations would have ever allowed. They could stand upright, they could run faster, they could jump higher and even far more terrible they could do long division. Yes…. They could think. But they weren’t thinking happy thoughts of flowing pastures, rainbow butterflies and sugar cubes. They were thinking about, fully automatic machine guns, napalm and weapons of mass destruction.

No one knows for sure why they attacked. Perhaps it was for the thousands of years of servitude that their fore fathers had endured at the hands of our species, perhaps it was the whole turning them into glue thing that was in vogue for a time… once again we will never know.
What we do know, is that the violence began between March 11 and 13th of 2004, at least that is what the county taxidermist was able to determine. The Murphy family came home from an evening out on the town, a movie and ice creams, to find five Unicorns waiting for them in their front room. Five blood thirsty Unicorns. The only remnants of the Murphy family were the stuffed and mounted heads of the family on the Unicorn’s barn wall.

The violence halted there for about a year as the Unicorns perfected their craft of war. They were able to harvest the Vampiric Eastern Narrowmouth Fanged Toad’s saliva and created a serum that combined their blood with the saliva. The Unicorns, like trained ninja stallions, began secretly contaminating nearby horse herds at night and their ranks swelled quickly. By the end of 2004 it is estimated that there were about 4,000 Unicorns living in the hidden marshes and conquered ranches of Florida, poised for action.

So that is the “official” story, that has been forced down the public’s throat, of how it began. I am here to tell you that you have been misled and lied to for these last six years. A lie that has been systematically and abhorrently continued by our government and many national news stations. The depths of the conspiracy go beyond the fathoms of the deepest Atlantic Ocean trench, twisting and corrupting the truth. A truth that now can no longer be suffocated, especially if the Hollywood producer calls, and that I shall divulge to you at his moment.
I have in my possession three indisputable pieces of evidence that “Dr. Mugumba Bol Hutt-atoe Watanga”, who probably got his doctorate from an online school, did not discover the asteroid that hit the power plant.

May I present fact numero uno, before I do, you need to know I am an avid journaler and have kept a dream diary since I was 10. Back to fact uno, in early 2002 I have a personal diary entry of a dream. In this dream I saw a “galactic mass” speeding toward the earth.




Myself, Bruce Willis and Elijah Wood were able to destroy it before it reached the Earth, but not the entire asteroid.


A piece still reached earth and caused a perfect storm that killed George Clooney and trapped Jake Gylennhal in an ice age.

Because of that dream, I took up star gazing and discovered the asteroid way before this fictitious Dr. Watanga. Not only do I have contemporary written proof of the dream, but the testimony of my mom, friend Georgie and I would have had testimony of Pastor William Shrugs, but he was killed in the battle of Kmart 2008, to substantiate my story. The other two pieces of evidence I have are even way better than the first, but just like I said, its best not to show your whole hand right away. So from now on you can join me in calling the asteroid, the Higgendorf Asteroid, renamed after its rightful discoverer, me, Chester Vaughn Higgendorf, but you can call me Chesty.

Chapter 1: Writing a History of the Wars...Why?

It seems strange that I am writing this anthology now, while still in the midst of perilous times. Stories, annals, or made for TV movies seem to bring closure to an event, so I feel that my efforts might be misplaced, as this story is far from over and to make matters worse, not one TV producer has gotten back to me about the script I sent them.

Perhaps sending the script with a lock of my hair may have been a misstep, but as you will see in the chapters that follow, no greater gift could I have bestowed upon a perfect stranger. Well, that may not be true, a lock of my hair and signed personal glamor shot, may have been a greater gift, however there is something to be said for not showing your whole hand at the beginning of the negotiation.

I learned that painful lesson the hard way at the battle of Denny’s, 2008… Yes I was there, and yes it was my fault. But I am jumping ahead, lets get back to why I am writing the story now.

Two reasons.

First, I feel heaven bound to those that have fallen in the conflict to get their story out, to set it straight and to lay before the world how great a sacrifice we have all made in the preservation of life, liberty and loved ones. Second, because I heard Sammy Applebottom was writing a memoirs of the Wars and I will be shinny-hammered if that dip wad lands a Hollywood contract before me.

If you are wondering where you have heard the name before, yes Sammy was the same guy who wrote that “famous” pamphlet “Bottoms Down: How to Protect Your Assets from Sphinxes and Rabid Beavers”.

Oh yeah, he was the toast of town for awhile there,

but talk about the most ludicrous and ill conceived

written public service pamphlet on the face of the planet.

Why do you ask? Don’t worry, I’ll explain, these were some of his main points.

“While hiding from a sphinx make sure you coat your body evenly with a layer of peanut butter and avoid riding even numbered wheeled vehicles, i.e. bicycles, roller skates and scooters. Unicycles, three wheelers and select odd wheeled rollerblades are fine.”

I would be rolling on the ground in hysterics right now if it wasn’t for all of the deaths that, that statement caused. I can count on more than one hand the people that got lathered up in peanut butter, strapped on their unicycle and took out for a summer ride… a ride that ended in being torn limb from limb by a ravaging alpine sphinx.

You see, Sammy forgot one crucial detail, it has to be Skippy Peanut butter! Not Peter Pan, not Jif, not Smart Balance, Not Smuckers, Not Nutter Butter, but Skippy! There are even several arguments that I could go into right now that Skippy chunky is preferable to Skippy smooth, but I will save that argument for another day.

Never the less a small point that ruined a couple of people’s days.

Next lets all chuckle at this next point in Sammy’s “famous” pamphlet,

“When confronted by the rabid beaver, lay prone on the ground and take short breaths every 15 to 20 seconds. The rabid beaver will become disinterested and find another prey.”

I don’t know about you, but I’m always carrying a stop watch on me in the occasion that I need to time out my breaths. Idiotic. How about this Sammy, “When confronted by the rabid beaver, RUN!”

Have you seen a beaver run? No? Because they don’t! They swim and do a light trot that a overweight dwarf could best. Not only is it easy to out run the beaver, be it rabid or not, but the rabid beaver epidemic occurred in parts of southern Ecuador and once or twice just outside of Mexico City. So that advice might have been helpful Sammy… if it was written in Spanish, you buffoon.